Well, I’ll lay it all out.
When I caught them in bed, right in the act, I went ice cold and my vision just narrowed down to something like a pinpoint. The urge to take the heavy, steel wrapped tip of the tire thumper and just beat the guy into a bloody pulp actually made me shake – but I have a strong dislike of jails and I figured that if I started pounding him, they might get me for attempted murder.
Her eyes got like about as big as dinner plates and her mouth went into an almost perfect O and the only thing she could say was ‘oh – f*in’ st!’ and started heaving him off of her, but he was already on the move.
You know how time freezes in snapshots sometimes, in your brain? That happened to me. There was a shot of him hitting the floor on his feet, prick erect as hell and looking at me in great surprise. I did not know him. Then her, on her back, legs still wide spread, pushing herself in a sitting position and looking real scared.
I next recall him asking her who the hell I was as she was rather hysterically pointing out to me that I was supposed to be working and what the hell was I doing there. Somewhere along the line, the guy acted like he was going to come at me and I threatened him with the club and he settled right down – all of the way. (Get what I mean?)
Through all of this, I could smell her perfume, the ‘romantic’ air freshener she liked to use, noticed that her crumpled underwear was a special, shiny, silky crimson set that I had bought her and that her engagement ring was gone. Even with her hair all rumpled and her looking panic stricken, I thought she looked beautiful.
She was sputtering something about ‘let me explain’ and he was still asking ‘who the f is this’ and ‘I didn’t know she was married man’ and she was saying ‘what gives you the right to spy on me’ and ‘call the cops’ and ‘get the f out’ and ‘it’s your fault because I get lonely and you aren’t around much’ and things like that.
I shut the guy up by telling him I was her fiancé. Ever notice how guys look so much less threatening when they’re standing there nude, prick drooping? I told her to shut the F up, called her a slut, among a few other things, emphasized my words by swinging the club and putting it through her bedroom wall. Then, when speech failed me, I turned and put my hand right through her bedroom door. (Mistake. Broke two knuckles.)
Then for some reason, I suddenly felt calm and collected, my vision widened and I recall turning to the guy, telling him to f her all he wants, 'cause she’s a slut, to leave $10 on her table when he goes home and to get checked by his doctor. Then, I recall just looking at her, taking in every detail and she put her head down and wouldn’t look at me. Then I heard myself telling her that was it, we’re through, that she could kiss my ass and what a s**t of a person she was.
Then I left. I heard her say something like ‘wait,’ but I was out of the door and gone. I started shaking when I got to the car, downed what was left of my booze and went to get more. Afraid that the cops would be after me, I threw the tire billy into a ditch, miles away, drove up to an old camping spot back in the woods and got thoroughly drunk.
I slunk home, a tad hung over but braced by the ever wise decision to buy a pint on the way back for a ‘hair of the dog,’ drove past my house several times to see if cops were lurking to pounce, (like they wouldn’t know my car)? and went in. I had several messages from her on the answering machine. The first couple were outraged and pissed, threatening legal action, blaming me for her actions, the ‘we need to talk,’ then ‘where the hell are you’ and finally degraded to ‘f off!’.
Two weeks of silence later, she showed up at my home, all sweet and loving, seductive as hell, suggesting that we get back together. I guess her rent or something was due. Be proud of me because I was nice and polite and cool and calm and said no and after listening to her many reasons why she had cheated on me – she slipped up and indicated that there had been at least two others - I escourted her to the door and said bye.
After she left, I shook, had self doubt, the urge to try again, wanted to hop in my car and chase after her yelling that all if forgiven, but I didn’t. I kept picturing that hairy male ass between her legs – the one that wasn’t mine. So, I poured myself a beer, dumped in a shot and proceeded to get on with getting over her.
Sometimes, I think about the good times and fun we had and sometimes, after listening to other guys talk about what they did when they discovered they were being cheated on, I wonder if I ‘wussied’ out and should have been more violent.
I mean, guys have told me how they beat the hell out of the guy, the girl, ruined her car, trashed her apartment, pulled guns, knives and baseball bats, and some got hauled to jail.
But, that was somewhat over 3 years ago. I’m not even sure where she is anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever work so hard for any lady again. It actually took me a few years of working only one job to recover my complete health.
There are times though, when I recall her voice or something she did to make me laugh, or drive by a place we went and had fun, or something she gave me that I did not throw out or pack away happens to turn up, when I think about her.
What would you have done?
