Out of the Blue

This is yet another cheating wives story, along with finding new love.

This story is long, so if you're looking for a quick read this isn't it.

This is longer than anything I've written before, including An Average Guy, I was in a car wreck and I'm currently in physio to recover the use of my legs so I'm real sorry it's been this long; been in a real fucking dark place.

Enough about me, enjoy!

T!

*****

I was working at my bar; The Blue Bear and we were running low on draught beer. Naturally, as the owner it was my responsibility to go and get a few barrels of the alcohol we were running low on. I have a manager for this, and rarely need to do it myself but she was on vacation at the time, trying to fix her marriage.

Claire was the kind of woman that loved everybody and would never say a bad word against them. Hell, I bet that even if someone punched her in the face she'd probably apologise to them. After the show 'How I Met Your Mother' became popular and had the long running jokes of Canada contained within we were continuously referencing them. She found them funny and tried to play up to them, even coming as a Mountie for a Christmas party we had one year.

She had recently found out her husband had an affair, around 18 months previously, because one of his friends dropped a comment to her that made her question his cover story. We never found out what his cover was, or what the question was, but none of us cared. She'd socked him in the face, a brutal right hook that none of us could have ever envisioned from her. He went down in one, and everybody in the bar - yes, the idiot came into the bar to try to patch things up - just stared in shock.

At the time, I was thinking "Thank God I'll never be in her situation."

Well, I was actually laughing my ass off, but you know what I mean.

--

So, I hopped into the Caddy and headed out for the wholesalers.

Now, I know that the second I said Caddy you're thinking of grandma in her Brougham. Well, banish those thoughts, because I drive a CTS-V wagon. Yes, I drive that fire breathing V8 "family car". Without the stupid auto. I drive a real stick.

As I accelerated smoothly out of the lot, heading towards the warehouses on the fringe of town I was thinking about my rapidly approaching evening with my wife. It wasn't often I took the evening off to be with her, simply because I was the only chef my bar had, and without me food was off the menu. This might be acceptable mid-week, but I don't like to let people down. Contained within my bar was a damn good food service, if I do say so myself. It was mainly grilled food, but we did offer simple things like soups. The soups were mainly outsourced, or else it meant hours of prep-work for me, including prepping the bar, and to be honest I couldn't be assed. Burgers and steaks were simple 'slap on and wait' type foods, so they were easy. Almost no prep-work aside from getting our blend of seasonings right, and making sure we had the stock in the freezers.

Before I bought the place, it was a full-blown restaurant, but I converted it into a bar due to the poor reputation that the place had, which was enforced when the health inspectors shut the place down due to poor hygiene standards. The bar is by far more popular than the shitty Chinese restaurant was anyway. It took months to generate interest in the food, but by God was the food service thriving. I mean, we'd never match the larger chains for profit, but on the bigger nights, especially when we had live music on, the Bear would pull in more than enough to keep the doors open for the month in food alone. Of course, a lot of this went to overheads, however we had the dedicated group of locals that habitually came in to enjoy the beer and food, and we always had newcomers so we didn't do badly.

I was heading out to buy more beer for tonight, and I pulled to a stop at the intersection, alongside a large black Suburban signalling left. I glanced left at the passenger in the high SUV, and it was Layla.

Layla isn't my wife. I know that's how these things usually go; husband is driving then sees his wife locked in a steamy embrace with someone in her car, all in a neatly wrapped bundle, but no. Not me.

Layla was a girl I knew way back in college, before I ended up moving to New York. You see, I originally decided to go into banking, and found employment as a senior manager. It didn't happen overnight, but it was damn quick when you compare some of the 50-ish year olds stuck in middle management. I'm 32 years old, and I was earning in the region of 400k per year.

Anyway, Layla was one of my best friends back in high school. I met her through a college party, as you'd expect, and ended up sleeping with her, repeatedly. We were a 'friends with benefits' type deal, but with a lot more friendship than benefits. I didn't mind though, it meant I had someone to speak to if I had a problem, but I also had someone to bang if I was lonely. There were people telling me that I was using her, or that she was using me. But it was nothing like that. We both got what we needed, and we both used each other to a point. I lost touch with her a long while back; last I heard she got engaged.

The light turned green and I hit the gas, letting the CTS-V punch me in the kidneys.

--

It was an uneventful trip, and I got everything ready for opening that night with two or three hours to spare. I decided to go home and relax. I was craving some shitty daytime TV and a mug of coffee.

--

I pulled into the driveway next to Alice's blue BMW. I knew she'd be home; she only worked a half day on Friday. Those are the perks of being your own boss. She ran a small accounting firm. She had staff so she could leave them to the last minute things before closing down over the weekend.

As I walked through the door I caught the scent of something cooking.

"Hey, something smells good!" I called, dropping my keys on the table by the door.

She stuck her head around the door and said "Just something quick, I'm going out soon."

"So there's none for me?" I asked, walking into the kitchen. My wife was one hell of a good cook.

"Nope, you'll have to get one of the girls at the bar to cook you something up. Or cook something yourself, like I said I can't stay long." She had been like this for a few weeks, almost dismissive in a way. It was nothing new, really. I was used to females; I have a primarily female staff.

Now, I know how that sounds, but it's really just that they're the ones that usually apply. The guys seem to think that bar work is beneath them in this town, and they'd rather go work up at the local plants. It didn't bother me in the slightest; I looked at the girls as an extension of my family. That's simply because of the sheer volume of time we all spent together.

I spend more time with Claire than I do with Jenny. It's not because I hate my wife, far from it, but I have to spend practically every waking moment nursing the bar. I love my job though. I really, truly do. I despised it at first, before I got on my feet, because with working in a bank I got used to needing to see figures in a positive, where in my bar, for the first few months we were making a loss. Now that everything has sorted itself, aided in part by the other bar in town closing, I love what I do. The social side of it and the work side is the most rewarding thing I've ever done.

I snagged Claire from the other bar in town just before it closed. She had heard the ship was sinking and wanted to step off. That really fucked them up. Next thing they knew they'd entered involuntary liquidation and had their assets seized. I genuinely felt sorry for them but it did make me a ton of money. So, all told I couldn't really feel that sympathetic. I'd actually offered pretty much all of their staff jobs. Only two of their staff, aside from Claire, accepted, the rest choosing instead to find jobs in other fields. And so Chris and Kate came to work for me. Chris and Kate both worked behind the bar, and we also had a number of waiting staff that weren't my responsibility. I dealt with Claire, and Claire dealt with everything else. She pretty much ran the place with only minor input from me.

It panicked me at first, because if she can step off when a business is hitting hard times then I was worried about what that said about her loyalty, but the reason involved a manager and untoward advances. No worry of that from me then.

--

Jenny left shortly after, with nothing more than a quick "Goodbye Paul."

I was content to continue what I was doing. I'd had enough of this 'I don't give a shit about you' behaviour. Plus, at that moment, I was looking at a 2012 Mustang in a cherry red. I had been like this for a while, but at the last moment I always backed out.

I closed the laptop.

--

I had long given up with hoping she'd come back tonight, so I went back to the bar and popped a beer. To say I run a bar, it's very rare that I'll open a beer, or drink any alcohol at all really. My father had been an abusive drunk, and I saw enough in myself to worry about drinking too much myself. It wasn't rare to see him screaming in my mother's face, spit flying from his mouth and take a swing or six.

Eventually, he took it too far when I was ten and kicked her into a coma. He was given life without parole. She didn't recover. I ended up living with my Aunt Lisa and Uncle Tom. Nice people, but they never got around to having kids, so they didn't really know what to do. It didn't help that they were in their late 40's when I came to them. As a general rule I was left to my own devices. To their credit, they tried. They paid for my education and I make sure they're comfortable in their retirement.

Tonight though, I was knocking them back. I didn't care; I just needed to be numb.

I thought back to when I met Jenny. It was at a charity event I was attending, and she'd come with one of my staff.

She was gorgeous. Shoulder length blonde hair, and a black low cut dress, highlighting her B-cup breasts. I couldn't get past the smile though, the smile that could light up a room, the smile that was aimed at me when she noticed I was looking.

We got to talking, exchanged numbers and ended up married after 12 months.

"With one hand you calm me, with one hand I'm still." Editors on the jukebox jolted me back into the present. I nodded at Peter, one of the regulars and looked away. I took another pull from the beer and leant back.

We'd had a great five year marriage, attentive and loving, until the last few weeks when she had withdrawn from me. I knew something was happening with her, and I had asked a few times. Each time it was just a sharp "Nothing." And we were back to evasions. There was nothing significant that I could think of that had happened. She had been loving one day, then the next it was like I'd murdered her whole family.

I laughed darkly at the daddy reference involved in that.

--

I finally fell through the front door at around 3AM.

Stumbling up to the bedroom, I could see Jenny's inert form curled on her side of the bed. I felt a crushing wave of anger, then of sadness.

"You are not getting in this bed Paul." The sharpness in her voice was unmistakeable. She was really pissed.

However, I could also smell the vodka emanating from the other side of the room.

"How dare you go out until this time? You should have been here for when I got back!" She shouted.

"Why the fuck would I stay in when you're out with your god damn friends?!" I yelled back.

"Because you're my husband Paul! That's the way this works! I go out, and you stay in to look after me when I get back, you stupid son of a bitch!" she practically screamed at me. She got out of the bed and walked unsteadily towards me.

"This is an equal relationship! When you go out, I'm here for you!" She got right up into my face and screamed.

"Yeah, because I'm out with my friends until ridiculous hours every weekend!" I yelled.

"You're always in that bar; I wouldn't be surprised if you were sleeping with every member of staff!" So now she was accusing me of cheating. Great.

I just laughed and went into the guest room. She followed me, though, and continued harping on about how I was sleeping with Claire. I whirled round and glared.

"Hit a nerve did I Paul?" She laughed acidly.

"I have never cheated on you, nor will I ever do so." I said, quietly.

"Yeah, I'll bet. You're probably bedding every girl you see!" She shot, triumphantly. She thought she'd won.

"Is this cheater's guilt Jenny?" I asked.

"Fuck you!" She yelled, slapping me hard across the face.

I went to sleep feeling worse than ever.

--

The following day, I drank my bodyweight in coffee and, once I was feeling vaguely human, drove to see a lawyer. Jenny and I had signed pre-nups when we first got married. The bar was in my name only, as Jenny had said she didn't want the debt above her head with her college debt and company debt. Her company was in her name though, so she'd have the debt of that. The house was a joint purchase, and we used a joint account. I still had well over $1.2m in savings, and this is where the pre-nup came into effect. It basically stated that if I added to my savings from our joint account then she would be entitled to 50% of the amount I added, but the original balance was mine and mine only. Due to this, however, I knew she was practically broke. The bar was supporting her business far more than she realised.

I wanted the papers ready, citing irreconcilable differences. Naturally it would take a few weeks to get everything in motion, so I wanted to be ready to serve at a second's notice.

--

I went home and sat on the sofa, thinking about how things had got like this. I wasn't even sure if she was cheating on me, but I had this niggling feeling in the back of my mind. The mood swings, the constant accusations and the heavy social life all pointed to one thing though. I knew something had to be done, and done quickly.

--

I was watching TV when Jenny came in. I heard her drop her keys on the table by the door, and hang her coat up. Then I heard her sigh and come into the living room. She sat next to me and just looked at me until I was forced to acknowledge her.

"What, Jenny?" I asked wearily. I was tired of these battles.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly, and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. "I was looking through my business audit the other week and I saw how much money we're losing. I didn't realise you were propping the business up, and it kind of pissed me off. I felt like I couldn't do anything by myself. It made me feel in some way inferior to you. That's why I've been down these last few weeks."

I was fucking astounded. In all of our years together Jenny had never apologised. It was always my fault. Then again, I suppose in a way she was trying to blame her mood on me, but it was as close to an apology as I was ever going to get.

She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, and I figured there was no way I was going to be pissy with her. She knew it also. It was no real surprise when she straddled me, pressing into my crotch.

"So, how about we make up properly?" She asked, with more than a hint of playfulness in her voice.

I crushed my lips against hers and felt her tongue flicking pushing against my mouth. She giggled into the kiss when I grabbed her ass and stood up, flipping her petite body onto her back on the couch.

She sat up and snatched my shirt above my head, and traced her fingers lightly around my collarbones. I returned the favour just as quickly, tearing the blouse open, sending buttons flying around the room. I pulled it down her arms and clamped my mouth around her erect nipple, flicking my tongue over them. She shuddered and started to grind her crotch against my rapidly hardening shaft.

I reached down and rubbed her through her suit pants, feeling that she was already wet and getting wetter.

She moaned softly and nibbled my ear, before grabbing the bottom of my t-shirt and wrenching it above my head.

"I swear to god, I need you so bad!" she exclaimed, dropping the shirt to the floor.

It wasn't anything pretty, I wrenched her pants down and proceeded to fuck her, more to satisfy my lurking needs than anything.

Don't get me wrong; I felt my rock hard shaft sliding into her delectable pussy and loved every second of it but after an argument I simply needed to relieve my frustrations.

I came in her like a fucking train; I'm astounded to this day I didn't impregnate her because it felt like my dick had lodged itself inside her.

It reminded me again why I fucking adore my wife; quickies are nothing special, but with the right person? Heaven.

--

I dragged myself out of bed and headed off to the bar. She wasn't there when I woke up, nor was she in the rest of the house. I amused myself by taking inventory.

Shortly after 5PM I received a text: "I really enjoyed last night, just wish we had more chance to get together like that. Out tonight with the girls, love you! X"

I didn't even bother going home and simply headed straight to the bar. Claire was back today, and I didn't want the bar to seem like I wasn't coping. It was a simple matter of male pride that the bar should be in the same condition as she left it.

She walked through the door at around 6PM, a couple of hours before most customers filtered in. I wasn't cooking tonight; I had a young guy called Mark from the community college working in the kitchen a few nights a week. I supervised, but that's about it.

This woman wasn't someone I recognized, and she was dressed in a full suit and heels. She was maybe 5'10" and couldn't have been much more that 100lbs. Blonde hair, and piercingly blue eyes. The kind of eyes you think you could drown in. Fortunately, she spoke as soon as I caught her eye.

"Hi, I'm looking for a Paul Benson?" She asked, firing a quick glance around the bar.

"Sure, that's me. What can I do for you?" I asked.

She held out a manila envelope. I thought they were invoices from the local brewery.

"You've been served." She stated, and immediately left.

I tore open the envelope, thinking someone was suing me.

Outlined at the top of the paper "Petition for the Dissolution of Marriage"

I dropped the papers on the bar and walked out the door, reaching for my packet of Marlboro Red.

I inhaled deeply and thought about what her motivation could be. I should probably have read through the document before coming out here I thought idly, flicking open the Zippo and striking it. I leaned against my car, and quickly despatched with the cigarette.

I couldn't understand it. After the last few days of her practically kissing my ass, I couldn't figure what had changed. Was it some way to let me down gently?

I flicked the cylinder away and walked straight towards the papers on the bar. She was divorcing me on the grounds of adultery. I couldn't fucking believe it. What in the name of hell was that about?

I caught Claire's eye and pointed at the door, catching her nod in reply. It was something we'd come up with early on, when she realised just how loud a band could be and we needed to keep track of where the staff were at all times. Now it was more a force of habit than anything.

I walked briskly to my car and threw myself into it, slamming the door. I took a second to steady my breathing and started the motor, spinning my wheels as I left the lot.

--

I turned into my street, fighting the back end of the car as I felt it break loose. I could see the lights on in my house, and her BMW in the driveway, so I knew she was in.

I threw the transmission into neutral and killed the motor. I took another minute to push the building rage back down, and then I walked up my front path. I pushed my key into the lock, and twisted. The key wouldn't budge.