Shattered

The woman said, "now wait a minute, why the hell is this any of your--"

"Did he blindfold you and take photos yet?"

The woman's indignant face suddenly turned startled. Bradley was grabbing Alison's arm, trying angrily to pull her back out of the bedroom. Suddenly there was a thud and he was on the floor, stunned. Beth stood over him holding a heavy purse, with which she'd just smacked him.

The woman said, "he didn't take any pictures! But, uh, we did--"

"Oh, he took pictures all right. Where's the computer?" Jennie said, "it's in the other bedroom, Alison."

"Get your clothes on and get the hell out of here," Alison told the woman in the bed. "And consider yourself lucky. We'll take care of the pictures."

Bradley was starting to get to his feet and Jennie said, "just stay there, asshole. Beth has her purse but I brought a baseball bat."

"Listen," he said, a little uncertainly, "you three can't just come in here and--"

"Shut the FUCK up, you asshole." Alison whirled around and shouted at him, venom in her voice. "We know all about what you did to Suzanne, you dishonest, selfish prick. You're lucky we don't beat you to death and toss your naked body out the window."

She turned and went into the other room, leaving Jennie and Beth standing over Bradley who was still a bit woozy. The dark-haired woman had hastily dressed and was headed out the door without another word.

There were a number of crashing sounds from the other room, and after a couple of minutes Alison returned, a camera in one hand and what looked like an external hard-drive under her arm.

"What the hell did you do, Alison? If you--" Bradley started to his feet but was knocked back down, stunned by a blow to the kidney from Jennie's bat.

"I'm liberating your camera and your hard drive, you little shit. I didn't find any extra memory sticks, and your computer is now history. And if there are any other copies of your photo stash they'd better not ever see the light of day."

She bent down and looked him right in the face. "Fucking married women? Blackmailing them for sex? Exposing them to their husbands?"

She slapped him hard across the face. "And you used to be my favorite cousin."

The women headed for the apartment door. As they left Alison called back, "I wouldn't be expecting any more invitations to family Christmas if I were you."

**********************

"I've just about fuckin' had it with this shit—I don't know why I even bother coming!"

Rich marched to the door, yanked it open and stalked out, slamming it hard behind him. There was a kind of charged silence left in the room behind him.

Suzanne looked stunned, shaken; but Dr. Ross smiled at her reassuringly.

"Well, I guess he's starting to get in touch with his anger," he said, and chuckled.

It had taken Suzanne nearly two months to get Rich into Dr. Ross's office. Two months of pleading, apologizing, reassuring; of giving him space when he needed it, and cuddling up to him whenever he'd let her. Of telling him every day, twice or three times a day, how much she loved him, how sorry she was. As well nearly two months of no sex. She had begged, pleaded, for him to make love to her. But the one time they tried was a disaster—Rich's erection had disappeared as he tried to enter her, and nothing she tried would bring it back. After that he wouldn't let her get close to him.

And for the first five or six appointments he'd hardly said a word, mostly just listened to Suzanne tell the story and talk about how terrible she felt. But today, Dr. Ross had turned the conversation to Rich, challenging him for the first time.

"Rich, it's clear that the fault here is Suzanne's. She's the one who cheated—after you clearly told her that you wouldn't put up with her having sex with anyone else. Why do you continue to blame yourself?"

No answer. Dr. Ross continued.

"Suzanne has said that you were attracted to Internet porn that featured cuckolding or cheating wives. Do you think there's something wrong with that? Or that your being aroused by those fantasies means you're less than a man, somehow?

"They are very common fantasies, you know. Why do you think there are so many websites devoted to them? Millions of men are excited by fantasies of their wives with other men, in a wide variety of settings and situations. You're certainly not the only one."

Rich didn't move. He was sitting stiffly, looking straight at Dr. Ross, and Suzanne could see he was getting angry.

"So what do you think is really going on? Why are you clinging to some view of yourself as a wimp, rather than acknowledging the enormous anger you must be feeling at what Suzanne did?"

That did it—that's when Rich exploded, shouting back at the two of them and storming out the door.

Suzanne was still trembling—from Rich's rage, from the loud sound of the door slamming. She said, "I don't understand—this was a GOOD thing?"

The doctor nodded. He almost looked like a caricature of a therapist: middle-aged, neatly trimmed goatee, glasses, tweed jacket.

"Yes, for several reasons. First, he's got to start to get straight the difference between fantasy and reality. Lots of people have fantasies—all of us do. Some women fantasize about being raped, for instance. But virtually none of them actually want to experience it—quite the contrary.

"One of the best things about a loving marriage is when two people trust each other enough to be open about their fantasies, even the embarrassing ones. They can explore them and play with them, knowing that their partners will keep them safe by never taking things too far."

Suzanne looked down. "Until I totally fucked it up."

"Actually, yes," he said. "But you knew that already; you didn't need to come see me to figure that out.

"Rich has been clinging to the belief that somehow HE caused you to do this. As crazy as it sounds, that has allowed him to be in some kind of control of it. He's chosen to see himself as a wimp because the alternative seems even worse to him: that he can't trust the woman he loves."

"But he CAN! Of course he—" Suzanne broke off, her eyes filling with tears. "No, I guess he can't, can he?

"I mean, I know that I'll never ever ever do anything like this ever again. I'd rather die than see him hurt this way."

Dr. Ross nodded. "But it's going to take a while for him to believe that. And what he's got to go through in the meantime is accepting that you really did this, that it WASN'T his fault. And then, he's going to be really really angry. That's what started just now.

"After that, if you two can get through it, there will be room for forgiveness and reconciliation. But you're going to need patience, and some good luck."

**********************

When she got home Suzanne didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't silence. Rich didn't speak to her for three days. He didn't answer questions either, just stared at her with an aggressive blankness. They ate their meals together without a word from him, and then he disappeared outside or into his study.

She didn't dare touch him—she was literally afraid he might hit her or throw her down. In fact it wasn't until the third night, when she said that to him, that Rich softened.

He was in bed on his side, facing away from her. She was sad and desperate and wanted him to hold her. Without thinking she said, "I want to cuddle up with you, but I'm afraid you'll hit me."

He rolled over and looked at her, startled. "I would never hit you—you know that."

Suzanne started to cry. "But you're so angry! Not that I don't deserve it, but—" She put her face in her hands, overcome by sobs. Rich sat up and gently pulled Suzanne into his arms; she buried her head against his chest and cried hard, while he held her. When she was calmer he turned out the light and lay down behind her, spooning her gently as they fell asleep.

The next morning at breakfast Rich had a strangely hangdog look. He let Suzanne kiss his cheek as she put his plate in front of him, but he said, "I'm still angry, you know."

"Of course you are, honey. You should be—I fucked up! I did something absolutely awful—ME, just me, not you—and I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you.

"So go ahead and be angry: yell at me, call me a cheating slut, ignore me, punish me. Only please don't leave me." She looked at him very seriously from across the table.

"Please, please don't leave me," she said again, with tears on her face.

**********************

It was five days later that she gave him a blow job.

She and Dr. Ross had talked about it—or rather, about what strategies she could use to help him get through his anger and his hurt.

"Among the million things he's feeling, Suzanne, one of them is surely a lot of doubt about whether you're still sexually attracted to him."

"But we—"

Dr. Ross waved his hands. "It doesn't matter. You cheating on him with Bradley changed everything. Now you'll need to convince him all over again.

"And, frankly, he may resist intercourse with you for some time. He may fear, uh, further performance issues, for one thing. I would consider giving him fellatio, if he'll let you."

Rich was still coming to bed late, but this time when he lay down Suzanne got up out of bed, came around to his side, and turned his bedside lamp back on. He saw she was wearing nothing but a sexy black teddy.

His eyes widened, and he sat up, swinging his legs out of the bed onto the floor. In an angry voice he said, "I'm not having sex with you, Suzanne."

She knelt in front of him, unfazed. "I know, baby. I'm desperate to have you make love to me again, but I don't deserve it. Yet."

She bent her head and began to kiss his cock through his pajama bottoms, stroking his thighs with her hands. She kept her eyes down, so she missed seeing the struggle with himself that played out on Rich's features. She felt his leg muscles tighten as he prepared to stand up and push her away—and then he relaxed.

"Why the fuck not?" he thought to himself. "It's not like I get so many blow jobs that I should be kicking one away."

Suzanne made love to his dick through his pajamas until he was big and hard; then she slid them down off his legs, with Rich helping by lifting his hips. Then for the first time she dared to look up at his face—it was unsmiling and stern.

Keeping her eyes on his, she licked up and down his cock, feeling it throb in her hands. Then she plunged it into her mouth and he gasped. She sucked him energetically, a little afraid he'd stop her; but Rich was lost in the pleasure. She slid her lips up and down his dick, then sucked hard while stroking with her hands, and within three minutes he groaned and arched himself into her mouth as he came. The whole thing was quick and dirty and totally unexpected. He loved it.

Suzanne held him in her mouth as he softened, then cleaned him gently with her tongue. Finally she got his pajamas and helped him put them back on. Wordlessly she tucked him back into bed, turned off the light, then climbed in next to him and snuggled up tightly against him.

In a gruff voice Rich said, "one fucking blow job doesn't mean you're forgiven, you know." He was a little embarrassed, hearing himself trying to sound angry.

Suzanne nodded against his neck. "I know, honey," she said. Soon they were both asleep.

**********************

Suzanne blew him for six straight days—each time the same way, late at night, on her knees before him on Rich's side of the bed. It was still not her favorite thing, but she admitted to herself that she was starting to like it more. Probably most of all because she loved him, because she felt terrible for what she'd done and she knew this was pleasing him. It was a way to say "sorry" and "I love you" and "I want to be with you."

During the day they didn't speak about it. Rich had ended the silent treatment, and they at least kissed when he left for work and when he came home, but things were in some sort of strange limbo—not angry, but not relaxed and close either.

One night at dinner it seemed to her things were starting to get back to normal—or closer, at least. Suzanne was talking about work, telling Rich a funny story about an annoying client she and her colleagues kept trying to pass off to one another.

He was listening; and then he wasn't. She could see on his face that he had gone off somewhere else.

Suddenly he said, "I really, really hate you. You know that?"

She gasped, feeling it like a physical blow. He stared at her for another second, then got up and walked out of the room, leaving his half-eaten dinner on the table.

Slowly, Suzanne stood up. She cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, all the while feeling too numb to cry. When she felt enough time had passed to dare go looking for Rich, she found the door to his study was closed.

An hour later he found her in the living room. The TV was on but she couldn't have told you what she was watching.

He sat down heavily at the other end of the couch and looked at her, waiting for her to turn towards him. He said, "I don't really hate you. I hate what you did, but I could never hate you, Suzanne."

He seemed to be waiting for a reply. Her eyes were full of tears and she didn't know what to say. Finally she whispered, "okay, honey," nodding her head. She couldn't manage to say anything else, and after another minute he got up and left the room.

**********************

"So you've been ... giving him fellatio?"

Suzanne nodded, blushing a little. "He definitely likes it. But we don't talk about it, and his moods the rest of the time swing so wildly, I feel like I'm hanging on for dear life." She told Dr. Ross about the "I hate you" the previous night, and he nodded.

"He must feel he's on a roller-coaster, so I'm not surprised you're feeling that way too. He loves you, and wants your happy relationship back. He's still blaming himself, I'm sure; and more and more he's blaming you and he's just furious. Feeling humiliated, betrayed ... wondering about whether his age is an issue, wondering whether he'll ever feel he can trust you again ..."

Dr. Ross stopped. Gently he said, "I know I'm not telling you anything you don't already know."

In a different tone of voice he asked, "does Rich know that you're still coming here?"

She nodded. "We talked about it, a little. He doesn't mind, but he has no intention of coming anymore himself. At least for now."

At the end of the hour Dr. Ross said, "try to keep one thing in mind, okay? There's no such thing as giving him too much love and affection and reassurance. Even if he throws some of it back in your face. The whole edifice of his trust in you and your love, if I can put it that way, has been knocked to the ground, and it will take a lot of work to put it back together again.

"And it's worse—or at least more complicated—that the fantasy of being cheated on or cuckolded is an exciting one for him, because that leaves him struggling with the feeling that he brought this upon himself.

"So you just have to hang in there," he concluded, with a smile and a little shrug. Suzanne nodded and smiled back. She liked Dr. Ross.

Two nights later Rich stopped her when she kneeled in front of him, saying, "not tonight, baby—I'm bushed." She looked at him, worried, but he smiled and pulled her up into his arms for a hug. Then he spooned with her all night, and she slept better than she had in months.

**********************

It wasn't a straight line, their getting over it. Anything but. There were good days, or good moments, and some absolutely terrible ones. One Saturday morning Rich went off to play golf and he just didn't come back. 4 pm, 5 pm, not a word.

Finally she got a text from him, around 6:30. "Staying in a motel tonight—I'll be home tomorrow." She wrapped up the nice dinner that she'd cooked, put it away in the refrigerator, and made herself some soup and a tuna sandwich. Then she spent an hour or so talking to her friend Alison on the phone—Alison was such a patient listener, always sympathetic, never chewing her out for her stupidity.

When he came in the door the next afternoon around 3, he stared at her aggressively, as if daring her to question him. She just hugged him and said, "welcome back, baby. We're having salmon for dinner tonight, that sound all right?"

Then she left him alone for a couple of hours, and when they had dinner out on the deck they actually had a really nice time. He told her about his golf game, and what led to him getting so angry.

"It was just one of those days, I couldn't putt worth a damn. I was hitting it okay, but I four-putted three of the first nine holes and my mood got worse and worse. The guys were teasing me, you know, the way guys do—if I spent less time in bed with my sexy wife and more time practicing, etc.

"And then I started to think about all the Saturdays I've spent out on the golf course, and how many of them you could have been off getting fucked by some guy or another, and I just started to seethe."

He broke off, seeing her face, and held up his hand. "You don't have to say it, Suzanne—I believe you. I believe that Bradley was the only one.

"But that doesn't mean I don't fall into some really dark thoughts, sometimes. So I just felt like—like, fuck her, I don't feel like going home and making nice, being polite and sweet and pretending everything's fine. I went to the Marriott, had a mediocre steak dinner in the restaurant, and sat in my room drinking beer and watching the Reds for a while."

He smiled. "It wasn't much fun, to tell you the truth. I would have had a better time being here with you—I was just too pissed-off."

Telling her the whole story seemed to make him feel better, and they had a nice evening together, watching TV and snuggling a little. That night Suzanne gave him another blow job, trying to make it last, make it extra-loving, and when she had finished Rich pulled her up to him and kissed her for a long time—saying "thank you" without actually speaking it.

A week or so later they fucked again for the first time since it all started. Actually Suzanne fucked him—she licked and sucked him for a while, like she'd been doing, but this time when he was achingly hard she stood up and carefully, watching his face, straddled his lap and guided his dick into her. She was ready to back off at any moment if he rejected her, but he let her do it.

His cock felt enormous inside her. Nothing had been in there in months; Suzanne had diddled herself off in the shower a few times, but for some reason she had felt too guilty to masturbate using her dildo. So the feeling of Rich pushing up into her was just fantastic, and she groaned, pulling herself against him and feeling her breasts rubbing against his chest.

Naturally enough, Rich wondered if he would lose his hard-on, but it stayed nice and firm. He savored the feeling of Suzanne's wet cunt around him, and then he started to bounce her on his lap, pulling her up and down by her hips. They only fucked for a couple of minutes before he came in her, but neither of them cared. When it was over, they held each other close, breathing heavily. They were both really, really happy.

**********************

"I still feel like only half a man, sometimes." The words startled her, coming out of nowhere. They'd been relaxing on the couch with a drink, talking idly about planning a vacation, about work—about nothing in particular.

"It wasn't you, baby," Suzanne said, for what felt to her like the thousandth time. "I was just stupid." She teared up a little.

Leaning forward towards him, she said, "you know what I realized the other day, talking to Dr. Ross? It seems so obvious—I guess I knew it all along but it had never hit me, you know, right between the eyes?"