Please Understand Me

I sincerely hope you like my second contribution to "Loving Wives". Whereas my first submission was based on my life, and was about 90% factual with the names changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, "Please Understand Me" is 100% fiction. No genitals were harmed writing this story. I just wanted to break the template of: "I came home early because __________ (fill in the blank) and when I opened the door I heard moaning and sounds of sex coming from our bedroom. I felt sick to my stomach. I noiselessly slipped out of the house hoping my wife and her lover didn't see or hear me. I moved out, shut off my cell phone, answered no emails for the next six weeks while I secured my assets, etc., etc. . . . .How about this. The wife is frantically trying to contact her husband to tell him her identical twin sister and her husband are visiting and they arrived early and horny. {This might be the basis of my next submission!.}

There is no BTB or going silent for six weeks here. The premise of this story is based on sound psychological theories. Remember, it is fiction.

Mordant96

*****

Prologue

My name is Jake Franklin. Karen, my wife of fifteen years, and I, fell in love the moment we first met. At the time we met, I was a lieutenant in the US Army Special Forces on leave from a two year tour in Iraq, and visiting a buddy in Alexandra, VA. I had a few days before I was due to check in at my new duty station at Fort Myers, VA. My friend was in love with a beautiful girl, Janie, who was attending Georgetown University in the District. It was her idea to double date with her roommate Karen. The rest of the story would be boring if related here; but, I assure you it was not boring for us. Young love will find a way, and we were married six months after that first double date.

After my stint in the Army, I landed a great job with a large company that was on the cutting edge of Internet marketing. There is a large, unorganized network of former Special Forces that take care of each other. The brotherhood of those who have faced death and stared it down is a powerful force. No brother will turn his back on a comrade in need. I owed my job to LCOL. Brian Gorman, my CO in the sandbox. He was the CEO of the company and was glad to both help a comrade and get a good employee to boot.

In the first years of our marriage, Karen and I were looking forward to expanding our family of two and having at least a couple of kids. However, it was not to be. I was not fully sterile, but close. I was wounded in the second battle of Fallujah; not seriously enough to leave me with a permanent disability, but a few broken bones and shrapnel embedded in my legs required multiple X-rays. The machine in the forward hospital exposed the boys to enough mrem of radiation to diminish the quantity of the little swimmers, so Karen couldn't get pregnant the normal way. We discussed several options but, for one reason or another, we never took that course of action.

Chapter I,

The day began without any sign that it would be a complete life changer for me and my little family of two. I was up at six to get ready to fly to Chicago for a major presentation to a client of my firm. The details were unimportant, but I was to leave home this Wednesday and return on Saturday. Karen had her usual complaint that I was going to be absent three days while she had to sit home alone. My retort, as always, was that I didn't go out of town that much, and the trip was necessary to the firm, and was what allowed our rather high standard of living. She drives the latest model Mercedes, and we have a part time maid. Karen does some work, part-time. She spends about four hours two days a week at the Museum of Modern Art. I don't know what she does, but she seems to enjoy it. Karen went to a good school, Georgetown, but her liberal arts degree didn't prepare her for a high paying professional job and I'm glad of it. A higher paid position would have her being away from home (and me) so I'm just happy with the status quo.

I was dressed with my bags at the door, having a second cup of coffee and waiting for the taxi. Karen declined to take me to the airport, citing having too much to do today. No specifics, just had a busy schedule. Karen joined me at the kitchen table fully dressed, hair and makeup flawless. I looked at her with love and told her that she looked especially beautiful for such an early morning time. She usually stays in her robe and slippers until mid-morning. The cab was due in 15 minutes. It was eight o'clock when my cell rang with the tone I selected for my boss, Brian. Wondering what was wrong, I answered it. "Jake, I'm glad I caught you at home. The meeting's postponed two weeks. Take the day off, and I'll see you tomorrow." "Hey, honey, I don't have to go to Chicago after all. What would you like to do today?" I was not prepared for what she said and the way she was acting.

"I can't do anything with you, I'm very busy today. Why don't you go play golf or take the boat out?" She was looking at her watch with a very anxious look on her face.

"OK Sweetie, you never tell me to go play golf, so I'll do it for you," I laughed. "I'll go get my clubs from the garage." Karen could never play poker. Her emotions were telegraphed by her facial features. I saw extreme agitation replaced by relief in the fraction of a second. I knew something was going on, but I wasn't going to get it out of her by cross examination now. She would just get pissed and I don't need that right now. I looked at my watch and noted it was twenty of nine. If I get cracking, I can be on the links by, say, 10:30. Damn, I just remembered I had left my clubs in my partner's garage last week. He knew a guy who would give them a thorough cleaning and buff them up to look like new. So much for golf today. I know what I can do. My rose bushes in the front of the house are in bad need of a good pruning. Most people don't know that the secret of keeping blooming roses in good health is correct pruning on a regular basis. I went to the back of the garage and broke out my gardening clothes. I noticed my pruning shears were a bit rusty and needed sharping. I put on my old bib overalls with a faded plaid shirt. My boots and large straw hat completed my "gardener" costume. By the time I had sharpened the shears, and dressed for work, it was just a few minutes to nine. I was deciding where to start when Karen stepped out of the front door and screamed, "Why the Hell are you still here!" I didn't expect that and, frankly, could not figure out what was going on with her.

I noticed that she had her phone in her hand, as if she going to call someone. She rushed back in the house. I turned to my rose pruning when a sleek Porsche 911 Carrara pulled up in the driveway. The driver yelled at me, "Oy, hombre, donde esta la senora de la casa?" The dumb shit thinks I'm the Mexican gardener. I thought I'll not disabuse him of that notion just yet. Maybe I'll find out what the hell is going on. I walked to the door and called "Senora, hay un hombre aqui para usted"

Karen came out with a small suitcase in her hand. The guy in the Porsche called to her, "Hurry up Karen, we've got a four hour drive ahead of us before I can jump your bones. Did you kiss you poor dumbshit husband good-bye this morning?

Karen looked at me with a strange, woeful look on her face and, in a low voice that the driver couldn't hear, said "Jake, I am so sorry you were here to see this. I must go with him now. You should have played golf today. I'll be home Saturday afternoon and explain."

As the Porsche backed out of my driveway, I heard Karen shouting at the driver. "You bastard, why didn't you have your phone on?"

I couldn't hear his reply, and didn't really care. I did have the presence of mind to memorize the license number. I really wanted to know all about this son-of-bitch who just destroyed my life. I felt a cold fury and remembered words from my father, "Don't get angry, son, get even." Oh, but I'm going way past even. When I'm finished with him, the asshole will wish he was never born, and so will my cheating wife.

How could I not have seen this coming? Karen was the perfect wife in many ways, but I should have known. With no children or job, she just had too much time on her hands. I would never have thought she would fill that time with a fuck buddy. Did she love him? If she did, she should get the Academy Award for acting. I had no reason to think she didn't love me fully, with no reservation. Unless, she was telling herself she could love two men at the same time. These were questions for which I really needed answers. Practically, I could do the typical cuckolded husband thing and get a shark lawyer, cancel credit cards, hide assets—all the things the husbands in the Literotica stories do, including turning off the cell phones and deleting text messages and email without reading them, for days and even weeks. Not me, dammit, I wanted answers that I could only get from her; there had to be a reason for her behavior. Maybe, the Porsche guy had a partner who was holding Karen's niece hostage to force her to do things she would never do willingly. Okay, I was grasping at straws with that scenario. I'd have to wait until Saturday afternoon to get the answers that would explain her bizarre, uncharacteristic behavior. I decided to finish pruning my roses and then plan my course of action.

After an hour and a half of mindless gardening, I had formulated the framework of a plan. Whether it was a viable, doable plan that wouldn't get me 10 to 20 in the state penal institution remained to be seen.

Chapter 2

I took a long hot shower, put on shorts and a T-shirt and sat down in front of my computer to make a list. This was a preliminary short list. I could always add to it after geting some answers from my loving wife.

1. Run the asshole's plates and see who he is.

2. Take the three bedroom doors off their hinges and stow them in the garage temporarily. I don't want her to run in a bedroom and lock the door when she gets home Saturday. I could always kick the door in, but my way is much more economical.

3. Force Karen to answer the seminal question- Why?

I called in to my boss and told him I needed a few days off to solve a personal problem. Brian is a great guy and very perceptive. He asked the question, not to pry or be nosy, but because he truly cares about his friends and Brian and I are close. He asked if the personal problem involved Karen and the marriage. I told him yes, and when I get things sorted out I would come in to tell him, in detail, what the "personal problem" really was. His response was short and to the point "Do whatever you have to do Jake, and if I can help you in any way, just ask. He gave me his private cell number with the admonishment. Jake, if I don't get a call from you, I'll be super pissed. I may have some resources even you don't know about."

That evening I went out to our favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant and had eggplant parmesan with two draft Yuenglings, the best domestic beer available. It felt very strange to eat alone and not have Karen across the table, having a back and forth conversation on any of a variety of topics. Karen and I are conservative politically. We are not happy with the current administration and the president's propensity to bypass Congress with executive orders. That is not the way the founding fathers envisioned government should run. I really missed my wife, and I vowed that I would get her back "come hell or high water."

Thursday morning, I was up by six. A quick shower and a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, and I was ready to get to work on my plan. I called the precinct and asked for Detective Doug Rawlins. He was busy but promised to call back. While waiting for Doug to call back, I started on the door removal project. I knew Doug would do this favor for me or almost anything else I asked of him. When you go into combat with someone at your side and you know your life depends on that person just as his life depends you, a bond is forged that will not break for any reason. With Brian and Doug as a start, I was building an effective combat team.

Just as I finished stowing the third door (remembering to remove the bathroom locks as well) the phone rang and I picked up. "Hey, shit for brains, are you in the lockup and need me to bail you out?" "Crap, Doug, I wish it was that simple." I laid it out to him, from the Porsche pulling into my driveway to Karen leaving with the asshole behind the wheel. When I finished the humiliating story, Doug said, "Whatever you need buddy, just ask. I've got your back just like you had mine in Fallujah." I told him, "That's about what Brian told me—welcome to my team. I might need more, but right now I need you to run this license number. It should go with a late model Porsche 911. Also, anything else you can dig up on lover boy." Doug said "Give me a couple of hours and you will know more than you want to know about this asshole."

I knew I could count on Doug for what I needed, and he didn't let me down. In less than two hours, I knew all I needed to know about the shithead, His name was Victor McDonald; he was 29 years old, ten years younger than Karen. He didn't hold a regular job. The police knew he was involved in shady deals, from running book, to an occasional drug deal. He had a record as a known sex offender, resulting from a statutory rape conviction when he was 22. That episode also got him 18 months in the slammer. I now knew who this fuckwad was and where he lived. I vowed on my love for Karen that he'd wish he never messed with me and mine.

I loved her, but what the hell is Karen doing with this shithead loser? My world was rapidly disintegrating around my ears. Thank God for friends like Brian and Doug.

I went in to work Friday morning at my regular time and tried to reassemble the structure in my life. Everything in the office was still familiar to me. There were even stretches of time of over an hour when I didn't think about Karen and Victor. Given his record, he might be harming Karen at this very moment. Damn, stop letting your mind wander to the worst outcome. There is nothing more you can do until you talk to Karen tomorrow. Interesting how in all the Loving Wives stories you've read, when the husband suspects his wife of infidelity, the first thing he does is leave the house and turn off his cell and laptop while the frantic wife makes multiple phone calls and emails, trying to get him to listen to her. For shits sake, I would give anything to talk to Karen right now to find out exactly where our marriage stands. This really isn't the standard "strange car in the driveway" scenario.

I worked late Friday to catch up, and I got home about 9. After a meal of heated up leftovers and an attempt to distract myself with mindless TV shows, I went to my lonely bed wishing my real wife was next to me. I even shed a few unwanted tears. Shit, not a way a combat hardened Special Forces Captain is supposed to behave.

Saturday morning I woke up alone about ten to seven, and for a second I thought Karen must be downstairs fixing breakfast. Then it hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest: Karen is gone, and I may never see her again. That moment was the nadir of the worst three days of my life. Worst than the horrible days in Iraq where my very life was uncertain; when Marine SFC Doug Rawlins and LT Jake Franklin were facing death every day. We lived by General Patton's advice, "Don't give your life for your country, make that other somofabitch give his." Between the two of us, we probably introduced over a hundred ragheads to their 21 virgins. Like my father told me once, "Some people just need killing."

The hours moved slowly until about 5PM. While I was upstairs on the can, I heard the unmistaken sound of a Porsche exhaust in the front of the house. Jesus!! I was trying to pull up my pants when I heard the front door open.

Skipping two steps at a time I saw two things: The first was through the big front window. It was the Porsche accelerating down the street. The second was Karen just standing in the foyer. Her stance was a bit strange. She had both arms crossed over her breast with her sweater draped over her forearms. I grabbed her in a hug and said "Thank God you're OK and safely home." She didn't hug me back, it was like she was hugging herself and the damn sweater. She whispered "You don't hate me?" I quickly replied "I don't hate you Karen, at least not this minute. I need you to tell me what really happened Wednesday morning and where you have been for the last three days. Can I have a hug back?" She didn't whisper this time and almost screamed, "God yes, I need you so bad and love you so much." When she threw her arms around me the sweater fell. I must have surprised her with my greeting her as if she had been on a visit to her sister's instead of off with a "known sex offender". The reason for the odd sweater thing was forgotten. After a tearful hug session I pulled her arms from around me, meeting not a little resistance, and held her at arm's length. The first thing I saw was a large bruise on her cheek and cut over her eyebrow. Her makeup was smeared, and her hair was in disarray. I was holding her wrists and felt her wince when I first squeezed them. I looked down in shock at her wrists. They were deeply abraded as if they had been tied tightly with a 21 thread hemp rope. A glance at her ankles revealed similar damage there.

"OK, Karen, Truth time. You WILL tell me exactly what is going on, exactly how Victor McDonald has invaded our lives. Do you want to take a shower and put on some clean clothes, first? Are you hungry?"

She gratefully said, "Oh yes, to all three. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here and treating me like your wife and not the despicable slut that I feel like. I will tell you everything and sincerely hope and pray you will understand me. I do love you more than my own life and right now I am insanely happy you are giving me the chance to tell you the truth. When I opened the front door I would not have been surprised to see an empty house with a note from you that divorce papers would be served to me Monday. If that had been true, I swore I was going to kill myself. I even remembered the Glock in your bedside table drawer."

Karen's little speech set me back. She didn't sound like a cheating spouse that was sorry she got caught. I told her, hopefully a bit light heartedly. "Well, I'm glad I wasn't out of the house when you came home. I would hate to find you in a pool of blood." Looking at her stricken face, I quickly said "Damn, Karen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I know you are in a very bad place right now and what I said was just insensitive and uncalled for."

"Oh, Jake. I know your twisted sense of humor and I love it. It was just a bit of normalcy in this very abnormal situation. Let me get that shower and I'll meet you in the kitchen when I'm a bit more presentable. I'm so very happy that you're allowing me to tell you my story and I know you realize how very hard it will be to tell you the horrible and depraved things I have done. Please don't judge me until I'm finished."

Karen went upstairs and I repaired to the kitchen to prepare a meal. I had cold fried chicken and I could whip up some waffles to go with it. If it was good enough for Mildred Pierce it should work for Karen.

Chapter 3

Before I got too far into the fried chicken and waffles, I better ask Karen if that sounds good to her. I took the stairs two at a time and heard the water running in the shower. Karen was facing the shower stall and was shrugging out of her panties, her last article of clothing. I admired her trim shape that was outstanding for a 39 year-old. Then I saw her back. Jesus Christ Karen! I shouted and she jumped a foot. "What happened to your back and who did this to you?" Her poor back was crisscrossed with welts—some of them with fresh scabs showing they were deep enough to bleed. She must have been whipped with a heavy whip to cut so deep. "Oh Jake, I didn't want you to see that. It doesn't hurt as much now as it when he did it three days ago.