Tag Archives: Short story

Short Story: Los Altos

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I found out about Los Altos from a friend of a friend, some guy who visited the city and came back going on about how great the club was. “You guys need to go, I’m telling you,” he informed us with a sly smile that told us everything and nothing at the same time. There was something he wasn’t telling us and the only way to find out was to see for ourselves.

I had no intention of going, of course. If you knew me, you’d know that clubs weren’t my scene. I rarely went out, especially to bars. The only place I frequented was an Irish pub down the street from my office where I’d kick back with a few of the locals and shoot the shit. They were mostly from an older generation, reliving their glory days, regaling me with stories that I never quite believed. Mostly, they let me be, knowing that I preferred my own company. All except Ms. Peggy, but I don’t have time to go on about her.

The only times I would go out were when I screwed the courage to ask someone out, usually to go and see a movie, though I rarely did that anymore. I just went alone. Sometimes, if I was in a really good mood, I’d ask Jeannine the receptionist out for dinner. Like me, she preferred her own company so I never felt that she counted as company. We didn’t feel the need to fill the silences so it never became awkward.

My employer sent both Jeannine and me to the city to go to some waste-of-time seminar. We left, wondering why we were forced to sit through hours of lectures that would have been better suited to a couple of emails when Jeannine looked at me, a coy smile on her face, and asked “What are we going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here we are, in downtown after dark. It’s still kind of early. We could go back to the hotel, maybe grab a drink at the bar, or maybe just go back to our rooms, or we do something out of character. Let loose a little. What do you say?”

“I have my briefcase,” I stated lamely, embarrassed by how ridiculous I sounded.

“So do I,” she laughed. “And I don’t want to go out like this in any case. Let’s head back, change into something a little more casual, something appropriate for a night out, and meet in the lobby, say around eight? Then we’ll see what happens from there.”

“Sounds good,” I answered, still a little less sure than I would have liked. In fact, Jeannine’s sudden aggressiveness had me out of sorts. She was the quiet, bookish woman, a few years older than my thirty-four. She was unmarried, and had never been married before, though she was once engaged to some guy that ended up hooking up with some bimbo in Vegas and she dumped him.

I didn’t know what she had in mind, so I took off the suit and dressed in some khakis and a dress shirt, no tie. I put on a sports jacket and met her by the doors. She was dressed for a night out, wearing a blue cocktail dress, heels, and her hair was down. She always kept it either in a bun or in a pony tail. She looked unlike herself and looking around, all the guys noticed.

“I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up,” Jeannine joked, taking my arm into hers. “Where are you taking me?”

“How about Los Altos?” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“I heard about that place,” she said knowingly, gazing at me with a surprised look. “I’m surprised you know about it.”

“Oh, I guy I know told me about it,” I stammered.

“If you say so, Romeo,” she grinned before adding cryptically, “I hope you’re the type that can handle that kind of fun. I don’t suppose you know how to get there?”

“It’s not far,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure, though I was unnerved by how she was acting. “It’s maybe a couple of blocks. Let me hail a cab.”

“Or we can walk. It’s a nice night out, don’t you think?”

I nodded, but didn’t say a word. I was too busy dreading what the night would have in store, as I usually did whenever I went out. The club, from what my friend’s friend said, was owned by a Colombian couple who fled their home country to get away from some drug lord’s promise to kill them. I don’t know why they were in danger. I didn’t catch the story.

What I do know is that they came to the city, with nothing more than the clothes they were wearing, and after a few years scrounged up enough cash to open the club. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. It was housed within a crumbling brick facade amongst towering skyscrapers. There was a few businesses on either side, but I was surprised it hadn’t been bought up yet and developed.

On the north side there was two massive iron doors that led into the club itself, but they were never opened. Instead, you had to go through a glass door which opened to a long corridor in white tile, beige walls, and harsh florescent lighting. At the end of the hallway, a bouncer ensured that only the right kind of people were let in. I was afraid we would be turned away like most of the people ahead of us were, but to my surprise he let us in.

The doors opened to a cavernous warehouse space, where freight was shipped out at one time. Once my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I found that there was a bar on the left. To the right was the iron doors that remained closed. I think that’s where the trucks would back up to and were loaded off the dock. On either side of the bar were ramps that led to the namesake club, Los Altos, or the heights. It was exclusive and one had to be let in, and they didn’t let just anyone in.

Jeannine took me by my hand and led me up the ramp, towards Los Altos. I knew we would be turned away for sure, but to my surprise we were let in. “Good to see you again, Baby Doll,” the doorman greeted my date. “And I see you’re bringing in a newbie. Hope he’s up to it.”

“I think he will be, when the time comes,” Jeannine said brightly before planting a kiss on the doorman’s cheek. “And I think you owe me for last time.”

“I don’t think I do,” he laughed, “but I’ll pay up all the same.”

Jeannine pulled me into cozy room, at least in comparison to the warehouse behind us. It was still at least as big as a ballroom, with vaulted ceilings, but no dance floor. Instead, there were plush sofas all around, with plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in. Up aways I could see a guy reclining back while a woman’s head bobbed up and down.

“Are they doing what I think they are?” I asked, wondering what kind of place we had found ourselves.

“Forget them,” a husky voice replied behind me. I turned around and saw a Latin woman, seductive and sexy, though I didn’t think she was all that pretty. “I’m Amalia, the proprietor of Los Altos. My husband is around here somewhere, probably playing with one of the guests. I’m guessing this is your first time here?”

“It is, Amalia,” Jeannine answered for me.

“Jenny!” Amalia greeted my date warmly. “So good to see you. I thought you forgot about us.”

“Never,” Jeannine batted at the owner playfully.

“Then does he know that what happens here can’t be discussed out there?”

“I wouldn’t have brought him if I thought he was a snitch. You can trust him, I promise.”

“Good. He looks like he can use a little stress relief. I think I may want to play with him sometime.”

“Not before I do.”

“I understand. But come, let me buy you two a drink.”

Amalia walked ahead of us and we followed her towards a side room. It was private and our host left us for a moment before returning with a couple of glasses of champagne. “Salud,” she toasted us and we returned the gesture. I took a sip and she smiled. “You need to relax. Jenny will help with that. If that doesn’t work, well there’s plenty of us who’d love to help you out.”

When she left I turned to Jeannine who laughed at my reaction. “Are you okay?”

“Okay? What kind of place is this?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s swinger’s club. I couldn’t come alone, and I was hoping I could convince you to come but since you suggested it first I thought you knew.”

“The hell I did!” I said a little louder than I meant to. “Do I look like that kind of pervert to you?”

“Are you saying that I’m some kind of pervert then?” She asked coldly. “Are you suggesting that I’m some sick slut?”

“Well – um – no I’m not, I’m sorry,” I stammered.

“Well, I am,” she laughed again. “Oh come on and relax. I’m the same quiet girl from work, but once in a while even a good girl like me needs to unwind.”

“Unwind? How? By fucking anyone who happens by?”

“Sometimes,” she said quietly. “I like you, you know. That’s why I never tried to sleep with you. I’ve slept with just about everyone else at work, even Laura, the girl you’ve been making googly eyes at for weeks. They all know to keep quiet. I hope you will, too.”

“How many people have you slept with?”

“Does it matter?” She asked as she grazed my cheek with her fingers. “I could tell you if you want. I’ve kept tabs on who I slept with, who I’ve blown, and just about everything else I’ve ever done. It’s not all bad. We’re all tested once we join. Amalia’s strict about that. I’d like you to join, too. I’d like a boyfriend and I kind of wish it would be you. It’d make it easier for me, and like I said, I like you. What do you say?”

I stared at her, wanting to submit to temptation but also wanting to escape from this hedonistic paradise. I never would have pegged her for a swinger, and I never would have thought I could ever find myself in a place like this. Before I realized it, I found Jeannine in my arms and I had begun to kiss her and I lost myself in her. I wanted to run but I couldn’t move. I had to have her and I had no power to deny her.

I am lost.

 

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Short Story: Marionette

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This story is a little more explicit that usual. If you’re offended by adult situations, please do not read.

~Joe~

I woke up in someone’s arms and at first it didn’t register to question this. I remained blissful in that hazy area somewhere between consciousness and sleep, where dreams and reality meld, where the inner child is sated as the mind is allowed to wander down avenues long abandoned.

I remained there for what felt like an eternity, or maybe only a few stolen moments, before I became aware of his presence, and how he shouldn’t have been there. My eyes opened with a start before I closed them in a silent prayer. “Please, don’t let it be him,” I beseeched my silent God. I slowly turned to face him, hoping to find myself in bed with a complete stranger, as odd as that might sound. Instead, I looked into the contented face of my sleeping ex-husband.

“Shit,” I groaned. Greg began to stir as soon as I uttered a sound.

“Good morning, beautiful!” He greeted me sleepily with his crooked, mega-watt smile. “You were amazing last night.”

“Get out,” I hissed, pulling the covers up to hide my nakedness from him. He no longer had any rights to see me, to have me as his own. He gave that up when he left to be with her.

“Oh, it’s like that?” He grinned. “Right, I’ll just be going. Do you want me to pretend that this wasn’t your idea?”

I froze. What was he talking about? Thought the previous night was a blur, I doubted I was the one to have initiated anything with him. I never did. He was a highly skilled manipulator who knew how to pull people’s stings and get them to do what he wanted without ever being the one to initiate anything himself. I knew his game, and I refused to be strung further into whatever web he was trying to weave.

When I didn’t respond, he shrugged and got out of bed. In spite of myself, I couldn’t help admiring the way he looked as he walked across the room, completely naked. He kept in shape, every muscle defined so that he looked like some god of old, without going overboard and looking like some juiced up freak. Vanity motivated him to wax all hair off his body, and his sun-kissed skin was perfectly tanned.

I hated him. Next to him, what was I? Some aging scorned suburban housewife? My breasts were beginning to sag, and my tan had faded along with the pain of our divorce. I still worked out some, but not with the same intensity I did while married to him. My husband didn’t care about some trophy wife. With that thought, I bolted upright. Where was my husband?

Greg’s smile broadened as he read my mind. “Don’t worry about Mark,” he assured me. “He’s sleeping in the guest room. It was his idea, you know, for me to sleep with you. He almost begged me to take you. He watched and he thanked me for the honor of sleeping with his wife.”

“You son, of, a, bitch!” I yelled, hitting him between every word. I forgot my modesty and I let my covers fall and I ran to him. “You sick, twisted, mother, fucker!”

He laughed. In spite of my anger, I couldn’t help but feel the gravitational pull of his personality. He was evil, I had no doubt, but the thought of making love to another man while my husband sat watching turned me on more than I ever thought possible. I was surprised, but I didn’t care. He need to go.

Instead, I pulled him towards me and pressed our naked bodies into an embrace. I began to kiss him hungrily, wanting to devour his vitality. I missed his energy, his raw, primal sexuality as he made me feel like some otherworldly goddess. I knew better than to let him back in, but I was powerless to resist him, and he knew it.

I fell to my knees and began to kiss his manhood. It had been too long since I had felt him. I suppose I had last night, but it was lost in a haze. I began to please Greg when we were interrupted by my husband walking in on us. He looked shocked, his place usurped by the man who had wronged me years ago. I didn’t care. Let my sissy of a husband look on. He rarely satisfied me the way Greg could.

Mark stood in silent horror, until someone else came into the room, Greg’s wife. “Oh, look like’s hubby’s busy with your wifey,” she purred. “Why don’t you come back and let me take care of you?”

It became clear to me, that this is what the sadistic bastard wanted. He had always begged me to sleep with his friends, to agree to an open marriage, to become a swinger. I had refused, morally disgusted by his perverse desires. Now, he had finally succeeded in divorce what he never accomplished during our marriage. He had manipulated me into become an adulterer, and I knew he had won.

The pain was intermingled with delight, and I lost myself to his desires.

“So?” he interrupted as he caressed my cheek. “Are we going to stop now?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Do with me as you will. Greg will enjoy being our bitch.”

And with that, the invisible strings that I had thought I had cut so many years ago revealed themselves, and I accepted that I was nothing more that a puppet in his practiced hands, and I loved him all the more, cursing my own weakness. I hope that bitch enjoyed my husband. I was never letting hers go.

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Short Story: Breaking free

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“This is bullshit,” moaned a disheveled, middle-aged man as he slammed another empty glass onto the bar. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, and he had started slurring his speech. “I don’t know why I put up with it!”

“What’s gotten into you, James?” His friend Nelson – this one nursing his first scotch and water – looked on, concerned by how his friend was acting. “Don’t you think you should slow down. You’re hitting it pretty hard tonight.”

“What does it matter? Why does any of it matter?” He slurred. “Give me one more, Gary.” The bartender looked over to the friend, who nodded, and the bartender reluctantly brought over a fresh scotch.

The pair remained silent for a moment, but as soon as James had his drink in hand, he began his complaint anew. “I’ve been there for almost twenty years,” he began.

“And they don’t appreciate what you do for them,” his friend completed the refrain. “Yeah, I know. We all know. Why don’t you spare me the bullshit and just tell me what happened today.”

“Spare you the…, fine,” he sputtered angrily. “I’ll tell you. My tightwad boss yelled at me, wanting to know about the Andrews account. I closed that deal a month ago, he signed off on it, and now he’s pissed off because he thinks we under-charged them. He wants me to cancel the contract and renegotiate. It’s bullshit. They won’t go for that! They’ll find someone else to do business with, and then I’ll get blamed for losing another major contract, all because THEY can’t do their jobs correctly. I’m tired of being their punching bag.”

“Then get out,” a voice cried out from the other side of the bar. James whipped his head around, angry that he had been overheard, though he had been complaining so loud that many people had simply left to go elsewhere for a drink.

“What did you say?” James’ friend  asked.

“Get out,” she repeated herself with an eerily calm voice. She was an attractive forty-something, with expensive tastes. She looked out-of-place in the slightly seedy establishment. Nelson looked at her, and she wore a haunted expression on her face, but other than that, betrayed no emotion, though it was obvious to all that she had been crying recently.

“What business is it of yours?” James spat.

“None, I suppose,” she sighed, “but I think you should listen anyways. What could it hurt?” James shrugged as he started on his scotch. The stranger walked over and sat beside him.

“It’s funny how similar a job is to a romantic relationship. At first, it’s all perfect. You’re in love, after all. He brings you flowers, tells you he loves you. He brings you gifts and treats you like a princess. You get lost in the fantasy. At work, it’s the same, they check up on you, make sure you have everything you need, ensure you’re comfortable. They have a responsibility to you and they want you to succeed because their success is dependant on your ability to do your job.

“It doesn’t take long for the new relationship smell to start to wear off. You don’t notice it at first, but it slowly begins to change. It’s subtle, first he stops giving you flowers, or he stops rubbing your neck at the end of the day. There are no more sweet love notes, or he stops kissing you altogether. There’s a moment when you look up, and you realize that the magic is gone, but you can’t pinpoint when it happened, but you know you want to leave, but he doesn’t let you.

“‘I’ll change,’ he promises. ‘Just give me another chance.’ So you agree, and at first there’s a noticeable improvement. He starts kissing you again, his voice seductive promising you things he promised once before, and you fall for his charm. He comes home at a reasonable hour. He treats you how you deserve to be treated, for a while, but sooner rather than later it goes back to how it was. He neglects you, takes you for granted. You’ve become nothing more than a nursemaid while the jackass goes out to play.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” James groaned.

“Don’t you see?” The stranger said pointedly. “You’re nothing but your boss’s bitch. Sure he may treat you a little better should you want to leave and he needs you, but what’s the point? How many times do you have to do the stupid, little dance? You know what I’m talking about, right?”

“I’ve talked about leaving, sure,” he agreed.

“And what? Did you get a raise, a better office perhaps?”

“And a promotion, but I’m still doing the same bullshit work.”

“Exactly,” she shoved her finger into his chest. “Nothing but trinkets given to take your mind off the fact that they don’t respect you.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Leave. Get out while you can. It’s a toxic relationship, abusive to the point where you’re losing yourself in drink just to numb the pain. Break up, while you still can, and leave on your own terms. Leave before you lose all sanity, lose all control, and do something you may regret later. You’re nobody’s bitch.”

“I can’t just quit,” James cried. “I have a family to support.”

“And yet you’re here and not with them,” she countered. “Don’t you think this is taking a toll on them? How long before she gets tired of being neglected? Get out while you still have a marriage to save. Or stay and lose everything. I don’t give a shit.”

The stranger got up, paid her tab, and left without saying another word. “What a loon,” James laughed before returning his attention to his drink.

“I don’t know,” Nelson said quietly. “I think she has a point, and I think you need to stop drinking and go home to your family before you end up like me, divorced and alone.”

***

James walked into his house, his children already in bed. His wife was curled up in front of the television, which she had on mute, a book in hand. She barely registered his entrance with a weary nod.

“I think we need to talk,” he said glumly.

“Oh?” she replied, not taking her eyes off the book.

“First, I want to say I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting, the way I’ve been treating you and the kids. I love you all, and I don’t want to lose you.”

That finally got her attention and she put her book down. “Okay?”

“I’ve been having a hard time at work, and I know it’s no excuse, but that’s why I’ve been so distant lately. I want to change before I lose you. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“Okay? So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you think it’s your job that’s at fault, leave.”

“Just quit? I can’t do that! I have a family to support.”

“And you think you’re supporting us by coming home drunk every night? By neglecting us? I hate to break it to you, but you’ve already lost me. I’ve been seeing someone for a while now, someone who’s taken care of me, who treats me how I should be treated.”

“Oh,” James replied, stunned by the revelation, not knowing what else to say.”

“Yeah, you’ve already lost me. I’m just here for the kids, but even for them, I don’t know what more I can take.”

“So, you’re sleeping with him?”

“Not yet, but it’s going to happen any day now.” His wife looked at his compassionately for the first time and smiled grimly. “I love you, too, but I can’t go on like this. You say you don’t want to lose me, this is your chance. Quit your job. It’s either them or me.”

“And what about our mortgage and our bills?”

“We have enough to get by for a couple of years, but you should be able to find a job before then. We’ll have to cut back on a few luxuries, but so what?”

“Wow,” James exclaimed softly, waves of fear, anger, and jealousy over taking him. “So you have someone on the side and you’re about to leave me?”

“I have someone on the side, but I wasn’t planning on leaving you just yet, but eventually, yes. I won’t be treated like this, not by you. If I have to find affection somewhere else, yeah I’ll do it, and feel no guilt for doing it.”

“I – I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.”

“I told you. Quit. If you want me, that’s my price. Quit your job, and come to counseling with me. I’ve been going for several months, alone.”

“I need to think about it. I can’t just up and quit.”

“Suit yourself. You know what’s up. I’ll give you some time, but not much more. I’ll take a poorer man over you if that means I get to have his attention. And just so you know, that trip I was planning for this weekend with the girls?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be with him in Vegas, in his arms, in his bed.” She got up and walked out, taking her book with her, leaving him to his confusion.

James picked up the remote to the television to shut it off when a picture grabbed his attention. The same woman who he met at the bar. He turned up the volume to listen to the news report.

“…woman wanted by the police in connection with the brutal murders of her husband and his lover was found moments ago, dead of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Friends described her as an outgoing, loving person, who had endured years of abuse and neglect, culminating in cold-blooded murder.”

“Chilling, Steve. Next, we check in with Dave for the weather. How’s it looking for the…”

James shut off the television and walked into the bedroom, the brutality of what he saw breaking him. “What’s the matter?” His wife asked, as he sat on the bed, shaking by what he saw on the news. He had just talked to her moments earlier.

“I love you. I’ll put in my notice tomorrow. If you have to go this weekend, I won’t blame you, but I won’t stop fighting for you.”

“Babe, if you choose me, I’ll choose you, too. Just understand, this is your one and only chance, but I won’t guarantee I’ll stay, either.”

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Short Story: Faithless

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There’s a helplessness in watching your best friend and neighbor pack his belongings into a car and drive away. It’s one of those moments of profound loneliness as your life unravels around you, when your friends abandon you, not that I didn’t sympathize. What could I do? It’s a trial that a man must face alone.

Gabe and Martina had been together since college. Over twenty years, eighteen of which they had been husband and wife. Gabe was a workaholic, working over seventy hours a week. His dedication gave Martina the freedom to dabble in her pet projects which included a writing career which saw her self-publish a few romance novels, and a freelance design company which specialized in home makeovers.

Gabe gave that to her working as an Executive Communication Officer for a large international firm. He pulled in a healthy six-figure salary plus bonuses which shamed my measly teacher’s salary. In spite of his good fortune, he lived in a modest neighborhood, drove a nondescript car, and didn’t try to show off that he was reasonably well off. That was not the kind of guy Gabe was.

That all unraveled last week when he was fired from his job. He didn’t say much other than to say that there was a major shake up at the firm, and the old guard was being replaced. He tried to sound upbeat, but I could detect a note of worry in his voice. I mean, we’ve all heard the horror stories of once proud executives being forced to make ends meet by delivering pizzas, or other menial low paying jobs. There are no guarantees that he could find another job paying near what he had become used to making, in spite of his credentials.

At first, Martina stood with him, telling him that they would weather the storm. It would require a few sacrifices, but they had enough money saved up, and I recently found out that they owned several rent houses which netted them in a couple thousand dollars a month. They were building a nest egg for retirement, which Gabe joked had come a couple of decades sooner than expected.

It seemed to me and my wife that they were fine, but it fell apart rather suddenly. There was no warning that we could see, that their marriage was in trouble. Theirs was the most solid marriage I had ever known, but then one early evening he got into his car, his wife yelling at him, calling him a no-good son of a bitch, telling him to get out and never come back. He returned the next day, collected a few of his things as his wife glared, only to jump into his car and drive away again.

I wanted to go out and help, but my wife held me back. I saw the same look of concern mirrored on her face as she shook her head. “Let him be,” Nancy told me. “There’ll be time to check up on him later. Don’t get involved with their squabble.”

Reluctantly, I heeded her advice, though with a heavy heart. I watched as a quarter-century old relationship came unglued, and I never suspected Martina to be that kind of woman. She had been acting funny for several days, and I noticed a strange man visiting her when Gabe would leave to meet with his friends, looking for favors that would help land him a job.

Could she be having an affair? Maybe she only stayed with Gabe because he was her meal ticket. Now that he was unemployed, was she looking for someone else to take care of her? It didn’t make sense to me, but I had seen it happen a few times with guys I worked with. It wouldn’t be the first time I had been wrong about someone.

***

I wouldn’t have a chance to confront Martina until yesterday morning. Nancy ran off to meet a couple of friends for brunch, and finding myself with some free time, I headed into town to run a few errands. It was at the office supply store where I ran into Martina, looking forlorn, her eyes red from having recently cried. “Oh, hey Tom,” she greeted me sadly.

I glared for a second and I saw her retreat into herself again. “I’m sorry,” she said with a shaken tone. I didn’t mean to bother you, I just needed to talk. Maybe some other time.”

“Now is just fine,” I answered her icily. “I was wanting to talk to you too.”

“Oh? What about?”

“Gabe,” I stated baldly. “He was good to you, and you abandoned him when he needed you the most. Why? Did you already find someone to take care of you?” I asked accusingly. “Was that all he was to you, a paycheck?”

“You son of a bitch,” she hissed. “You have no idea, do you?”

“I think that I do,” I countered, unprepared for what she had to say.

“Let me tell you a little about this friend of yours, the one you apparently have on a pedestal.”

“Fine, amuse me.”

“He wasn’t fired because of some shake up at work. They discovered that he was harassing his interns.”

“Gabe? No way.”

“Yeah, he’s been sleeping with his interns for years, promising them he would give them a glowing report for their school credit, and recommendations for job placement, if they agreed to help him out, if you catch my meaning. Quid pro quo, only this time he harassed the wrong girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“The daughter of one of the major shareholders was there to do her own internship. Gabe had no idea who she was, but this girl reported the harassment, and after an investigation, one that he kept from me for several months, found dozens of other young women that he had harassed, many who he had intimidated into sleeping with him, and they fired him. There’s a chance that he may be indicted for rape as well.”

“I – I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. “I thought you were the one cheating on him. That guy that’s been coming to your house.”

“That guy is a friend of mine who also works at the company. He’s the one that told me everything. He’s the one who recommended I get a lawyer and start working to protect myself because if he gets sued…”

“I get it,” I sighed, still not wanting to believe what she was telling me. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh,” she pressed on, “it gets worse.”

“How?”

“Where’s Nancy?”

“At brunch with her friends,” I replied. “She goes out on most weekends to meet up with them.”

“Just like how Gabe would go out to golf with his buddies? Only thing, he doesn’t like golf. Turns out, he likes doing other things.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m straight up telling you that Gabe, your best friend, has been fucking your wife for the past several years. I just found out about that, too.”

“You’re crazy,” I spat as I turned to walk away.

“What?” She asked as she grabbed my arm. “You can’t believe that your wife could be unfaithful? She’s cheated on you with several of your neighbors. She’s the village slut, though you’ve been too blind to see it. You’re a joke in the community, the ignorant cuckold with the unfaithful wife. I didn’t want to be the one to burst your fantasy. Now, I just don’t give a shit. And you wanted to believe I was the one cheating. No, we were both cheated on. We’ve both been played for fools.”

“You have to be wrong,” I say desperately, clinging to some hope that she was wrong, but fearing in my heart that she was right. She was confirming a secret fear I’ve had for a long time.

“Do I?” She said coldly. “Fancy a short drive? Gabe moved into one of our rent houses. I bet we find Nancy there. Then what will you do?”

“I’ll go, but just to prove you wrong,” I answered her defiantly, though I wavered as she turned away. I didn’t want to believe her, but what if she was right?  Having to see it through, I followed her out to her car, and she bade me to get into her car. We drove nearly half an hour to a house in decent neighborhood. Gabe’s car was in the driveway, and Nancy’s was parked in the street.

“Wanna go in?” Martina asked as she shook as set of keys. “Let’s catch the motherfuckers red-handed.

I swallowed, though my mouth was parched, and I nodded. We walked quietly to the door, and we could hear moaning through the door, moans that I recognized as coming from my wife. “You want to do this?” Martina whispered.

“Yes,” I answered simply.

As quietly as she could, she checked the door, and it was unlocked. We burst in and we found my wife astride Martina’s husband, both completely naked, lost in their moment of passion, momentarily stunned by our intrusion.

“Oh, shit!” Nancy yelled as she realized who had come busting in. She jumped off and tried to cover her shame, but it was too late. The truth had come out.

“I told you,” Martina said in my ear. “Believe me yet?”

I didn’t say anything as I turned and walked out the door. Nancy ran after me, pleading with me, saying that it was a mistake, that she really loved me. Martina hung back, giving me enough space to do what I needed to do. I looked at my wife, tears streaming down her face, and I laughed. I became hysterical, mad in my grief, having to come to terms almost immediately that my marriage had been a sham.

“I hope you two are happy together,” I said jovially, the mirth in my voice surprising even me. “You deserve each other.”

“Don’t say that,” Nancy cried. “I’m your wife! I’m your wife! Please don’t do this to me, please!”

“If you really cared about being my wife, you wouldn’t have been fucking my best friend, though if he was really my friend…. You know what? It doesn’t even matter. We’re done. Martina?” I yelled. “You ready to go?”

“I am. You want to grab a drink?”

***

I was awoken by a sound at the door. I looked up to see my wife standing at the doorway, a look of shock on her face. In my arms, on our bed, slept Martina. Nancy broke down, rousing Martina from her slumber. “Oh, hello precious,” my neighbor gloated. “Fair is fair, don’t you think? To think you let him go for that joke of a husband of mine. Keep him. Tom is a much bigger man, and a better lover.”

My wife didn’t utter a sound as she left. I never saw her alive again. The next morning, a couple of detectives woke us up to tell us that our spouses were dead, “a murder-suicide,” they informed us. We grieved after they left, devastated that our spouses were dead, heartbroken that we had been played for fools for so long.

After an hour, Martina stood up and started to get dressed. “You leaving?”

“We’re going to my house,” she smiled wanly. “Let’s make love on my husband’s bed. Let’s fuck on everything our others held so dear. You game?”

“I am. Then let’s bury them and fuck on their graves.”

“Sounds good to me.”

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Flash Fiction: Time

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I’m astounded by the capricious nature of Time, how it ebbs and flows much like the waves of an ocean against the beach. At times it’s gentle as it caresses the coast like a besotted lover, and at other it wreaks havoc like a jealous cuckold, destroying everything in it’s path. Time, I fear, has become the mistress that’s getting away from me.

Age is creeping up on me. I’m reminded every morning as I roll out of bed, by the aches in my back and by how my knees threaten to give out on me. I’m reminded as I look at the sagging spectacle of a naked man staring back at me in the mirror. I’m confronted by it when my younger wife goes out without me only to return tousle-haired in the wee hours of the morning, smelling of cheap booze and stale cigarettes.

She tries to hide it, but I can tell by the satisfied look on her face that she’s fooling around. I cry myself to sleep at night, knowing I have never seen that look after our lovemaking, even when I was a much younger and virile man. I never heard her cry out, I never heard a murmur out of her. She just laid there, an unwilling sacrifice as the dutiful wife, performing solely for the benefit of her inept husband.

I can’t recall the last time we made love. I can’t recall the last time she cared to initiate physical contact. I don’t remember what it feels like to have a woman who cares. She has her lover – or maybe multiple lovers – but yet she stays, my labor financing her betrayal. I’ve often wondered, as of late, how much of my money has gone to lavishing gifts onto those undeserving scoundrels.

It’s getting late out, and I see my wife, in a short skirt, walking out the door without so much as a goodbye. I won’t be here in the morning to witness her return. I won’t be here to play victim, willing or otherwise. I’m done being played the fool. I’m done being less than a man. Better off dead than to remain the joke that Time has made me. Perhaps Time has only granted me the wisdom to see that I’ve always been the joke.

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