Tunnel of Love Pt. 02

Well, that was a matter of discipline, wasn't it?

Once Mike saw the challenge in those terms, something clicked. For the rest of the week, he made an effort to improve the atmosphere in the house. Friday night, while Jennifer met with Dr. Seymour alone, Mike sat with Mikey through a movie but all the time pondered Dr. Seymour's questions. By the time the show was over, he'd made a decision.

* * *

The Tuesday after Jennifer's meeting with Dr. Seymour:

Jennifer sat in the den, staring at a photograph. It was a very old photograph: a photograph of a young girl. The girl bore some resemblance to a young Jennifer, with the promise of even greater beauty—a promise that fate had broken.

Jennifer had been just five years old when her sister, her beloved big sister, had gotten sick. For nearly a year, Jennifer watched her sister get worse and worse, until she was confined to a hospital. At the end, she was covered in wires...tubes...but her sister had shown such bravery. When she died, it came as a terrible shock to Jennifer. Right up to the end, Jennifer had thought that her sister was going to pull through.

I've never really recovered from that experience. Not from the pain as it unfolded or the pain that followed. Not from the pain of being unable to stop it.

During much of her youth, Jennifer had considered becoming a doctor—a pediatrician, of course. Somewhere along the way, however, she'd abandoned the idea. Perhaps it was fear—fear of not being strong enough to work with children in pain. Or perhaps it was fear of failure—what would happen if a child were to die on her watch? Eventually, Jennifer turned her efforts towards a degree in teaching. She became a Kindergarten teacher; a teacher of five- and six-year-old kids.

The same age as I was when you got sick, Sis, and when you...strange, I never drew the connection before. The teaching, being around kids, sure—but to have become a Kindergarten teacher, specifically...I suppose that wasn't an accident.

Jennifer thought about what Dr. Seymour had told her, a few nights earlier.

"You need to know that it's hard for me to understand—and more importantly, for Mike to understand—how things could have happened as they did."

"I know! It's hard for me, even! But I think I can explain..."

"Okay. Get ready, because I think that's going to happen soon."

Still gazing at her sister's photograph but falling into other painful memories, Jennifer recalled the day she met James.

She was at the gym. He told her that he volunteered at hospitals. Later that week, they had a longer conversation. Choking up, he told her a heartbreaking story about one of the children, who had died. He seemed to love children so much—just like she did.

"Jennifer," he said, "I think you should come with me one day. It would really mean a lot to you, I'm willing to bet. You should see these children, Jennifer. They are so brave."

"I would like that," she answered, overwhelmed with emotion and without thinking.

"How about tomorrow night?"

"Okay," she responded after only a moment's hesitation. A moment in which she wondered what she would tell Mike. She told herself that it didn't matter, that she had to do it.

Maybe I saw it as a chance to make up for chickening out on becoming a doctor. A chance to help a sick child, in ways I'd been unable to help you, Sis. Maybe I thought I could even save one, somehow...

So Jennifer accepted James' invitation and got the details of where and when to meet James the next night. Driving home, she considered how to broach the subject with Mike. Rather than tell him the truth, she decided to tell him that her friend Susan Miller had invited her.

I lied. I lied to Mike. But I was afraid that if I told him the truth, he wouldn't want me to go and we would have a fight. So I lied, but I had a good reason. How can I get Mike to understand?

As they often do, the lies compounded. The next day, when Mike mentioned Susan, Jennifer had to lie again. That night, telling Mike about the visit, she'd intentionally omitted any reference to James. And so it went on, for weeks—by lies and omissions, she deceived Mike.

Reflecting on it in the den, suddenly it didn't seem so justified to Jennifer. She recalled what Dr. Seymour had said.

"Here's something else I want you to think about before next time: I want you to imagine Mike doing all the things you did. All of them, understand? And I want you to think about how you'd feel to learn about those things..."

What if Mike had met a woman at the gym? What if he'd accepted an invitation to spend time somewhere with her? What if he'd lied to Jennifer to make it happen—and then covered it up, again and again?

I would have murdered him! I would not have accepted any excuses. And I would have felt as angry and betrayed as Mike is feeling...maybe more so.

For the first time, Jennifer realized that "explaining" the deception would not be tantamount to justifying it. She'd always known it was wrong, even while she was doing it; but she'd convinced herself it was a necessary evil. Now, she realized, that was bullshit.

I was so stupid, so selfish. I owe Mike more than an explanation. I owe him an unequivocal apology—something more than the lame apologies I've offered already.

Jennifer felt a relief she did not expect, until she realized the deceptions were not her only transgressions. What was she to say about that awful Friday night, after Kevin had died? Why didn't she go straight home? Why did she accept James' invitation to have a drink?

I didn't think Mike could help me with the grief. He hadn't been in the trenches with me—not when my sister died, not all those weeks volunteering at the hospital. But James...

James had gone through what she'd gone through, more than once. He would understand. Only he would understand, she'd told herself.

Mike is so strong. It's not that he lacks sympathy—far from it. He just doesn't know what it feels like to lose someone like I did. To be torn up inside; shaken; devastated.

Then it hit her.

Oh god...he...he does know...now.

As with the lying, Jennifer had always known that going to James' apartment had been wrong. Again, she'd convinced herself that she'd been justified. Now, again, she began to realize that her justification was weak.

What if something happened to Mike? What if he sought comfort from another woman? Like that whore, Collette Davis; I've heard about her little stunts. Oh god, Mike turning to another woman for empathy and understanding...that alone would kill me...and if they also...ohmigod. Ohmigod.

Jennifer stared again at the photograph of her sister. There was something odd about it, suddenly. It seemed to speak to her.

"Finally, you begin to see. So much pain you've caused, in the name of your own. In the name of mine, even."

Jennifer burst into tears.

I know, I know, Sis. But those bastards...they set a trap for me! I made mistakes, but it's not all my fault. It was a trap. At least I escaped! I won!

The image of her sister seemed to change. She looked...unhappy...no, that wasn't it. Maybe...dissatisfied? Disapproving? The anxiety that Jennifer had experienced nearly two weeks ago returned, with a vengeance. The photograph seemed to speak again.

"You're still in denial, Jennifer. You aren't facing the real issues."

Suddenly, Jennifer couldn't bear the image of her sister. It seemed to be drawing forth something tucked down deep in her subconscious: something horrifying. Like an awful monster stirring at the bottom of a dark lake, the horror began to rise towards Jennifer's awareness. Meanwhile, she recalled more of Dr. Seymour's words:

"Not just the why, but the what. Are you willing to talk about what happened with James—very explicitly, if necessary?"

Jennifer found herself trembling. The photograph seemed to echo Dr. Seymour's challenge.

"Where did you go with James, Jennifer? What did you do? How did it feel? And what might have happened if—"

It was too much. Hurriedly, Jennifer put the photograph away and left the room.

* * *

It was a Wednesday night, after the couple's second joint counseling session. Mike was at home, taking a shower.

He'd joined a new gym and was spending quite a bit of time there. Exercise helped him escape; it was like meditation. It also allowed him to exhaust some of his anger, frustration, and pain. He liked exercising in the evening; he'd come home tired and relaxed, more able to get to sleep.

When he'd gotten home this evening, he couldn't live with his own reek. So, after getting Mikey to bed—he never went more than one night without spending some time with Mikey—he hopped in the shower. Ever since Black Sunday, Mike had been using the bathroom in the hall—the "Mikey/guest bathroom"—rather than the master bathroom.

After rinsing himself off, he luxuriated in the warm water. He remembered that "Seinfeld" episode, where Kramer had moved all his things into his shower so that he could spend most of his time there. Mike laughed.

If I could live in the shower, I probably would.

Mike thought about some of his other favorite "Seinfeld" episodes. Like the one not everyone would admit was a favorite, but it was—"Master of My Domain." The episode in which the characters placed a bet on who could hold out from masturbating the longest.

So here I am, in the shower...feeling nice and relaxed for once...haven't had sex in ages, not ever going to have sex again at this rate...shoot, why not.

Mike started to jerk off. Amazingly, as soon as he was nearly hard and the sensations really started to kick in, he thought of Jennifer. The instinct was still there.

But as always, the instinct soon was overrun by negative thoughts and emotions. He tried to fight them back, but he hadn't built up the discipline yet. As thoughts of Jennifer's betrayal overwhelmed him, he found himself losing his erection.

His general horniness did not recede, though. Now he was frustrated; he didn't want to try to go to sleep like this. But masturbating to thoughts of Jennifer wasn't working—at least, something in him wasn't allowing it to work. So, Mike tried something else.

At first he imagined just a faceless, nameless, almost formless partner. But the image kept morphing into Jennifer, which did him no good. He didn't think it right to imagine himself with someone else he could actually picture—even a fictional person—after all, for the time being, he was still married. But damn it, this was all Jennifer's fault. And if she could have a real fling, he could have a little fantasy in the shower!

The memory of an old girlfriend came to mind. That helped him along, but the memory wasn't all that erotic. He needed something a little...taboo? Suddenly, his thoughts turned to Collette Davis and their embrace at her home that afternoon that he picked up Bobby. Collette, the only woman he'd embraced since Black Sunday.

That did feel good. Whoa...remember the fundraiser? Boobs spilling out of her dress, speech slurred, propositioning me. Blonde hair...not my favorite, but different...hmm, matching blonde pussy? That could be interesting.

Ever since Black Sunday, the boy scout in Mike had been in retreat. He was quick to anger. He'd always had the occasional profane thought, but now he had them all the time. He'd rarely spoken profanity, but now it slipped out with increasing frequency.

As for sexual thoughts...they'd taken on some dark overtones. He'd often thought about getting sexual with Jennifer again but treating her as a whore, using her for his pleasure alone. He'd gotten himself off a few times fantasizing about it, until he'd realized that to actually do it—or even just continue to imagine it—could ruin any chance of restoring true, loving intimacy.

Desperate at this moment in the shower to get off, however, Mike decided that any other fantasy was fair game.

Yeah, Collette Davis, curvy slut...

We leave the ballroom, find a deserted hallway or a closet...maybe go outside, behind some trees...

I slip one strap of her dress down her shoulder, cup her breast, and suck on it...

She gasps...no sweet talk, no tender kissing, I just take her...

She wants me, someone wants me, not some other guy...

She sucks my cock without hesitation, while I play with her nipples...

She'll swallow, I know she will, but I'm going to fuck her...

I make her stand, turn her around, hike up her dress...

Rip off her wet panties, ram into her...

Fucking, I'm fucking that blonde, wet pussy...

She's panting my name with each thrust...

* * *

"Mike?"

There was a knock on the bathroom door, then it opened.

"Mike, it's just me...putting some things away."

Jennifer had just finished doing the laundry. She wanted to hang some fresh towels in the bathrooms. Though she knocked, she thought nothing of entering the bathroom; it was old habit. She stepped inside with several towels slung over her shoulder.

As Jennifer swung them off, she almost lost one. Flailing around trying to recover it, she accidentally hit the shower curtain rod—a quirky one that had to be just right to stay in the place. The impact caused it to slip, bringing half the curtain down, until she caught it. Suddenly, Jennifer was staring at Mike—naked, visible from the waist up, above the partly fallen curtain.

"Mike! I'm sorry, here let me—"

"No, I'll do—"

"But the hangers are tangled now, I'll just—"

As they fumbled to fix the curtain, Jennifer tried to keep her eyes to herself—but she just couldn't. She snuck a peak at her man...the person who used to be her man. She felt a thrill when she spied his package. She smiled at the nice size and shape of it.

Then she realized that Mike's cock was nearly erect. Her first thought was that she was making him hard. Then she realized that she hadn't shown nor done anything for Mike to get so aroused.

Quickly, the curtain was back up. Jennifer left the bathroom but paused outside.

Was he—was he doing something—to himself?

Yes, Jennifer thought, he probably was. She felt angry, indignant—what's wrong with me, aren't I hot enough anymore? He'll touch himself but not me?

Her huff eased slightly, replaced partly by sympathy. With mixed motives, she reentered the bathroom, quietly closed the door, and undressed.

"Mike, it's me again. The rod isn't quite right. I'm just going to fix it."

* * *

Whatever, Mike thought, his head in the stream. It felt too nice to move. Something about the sensation of being nearly underwater soothed him. It was as if he was literally drowning his sorrows.

Jennifer pulled back the curtain, stepped into the shower, and pressed her body up against Mike's back. Reaching around and grabbing his cock, she spoke in his ear.

"This rod...it's not hanging right...let me straighten it."

The feel of Jennifer's hand on his cock and her naked breasts against his back paralyzed Mike. It was surprising, exciting, yet also warmly familiar and comforting. The sensations were so strong, it took a minute before his mind registered what was happening.

When it did, off went the alarms. Suddenly Mike felt extremely awkward, being naked in the presence of a woman, especially a naked woman. It felt nothing at all like being naked with one's wife of twelve years. It was as if they were strangers, except between strangers it might actually have felt a little less awkward. Mike felt vulnerable...and confused.

Fuck, that feels good...but she has no right...I was jerking off because I don't...I'm not ready...or am I, my god those are her nipples on my skin...maybe I should just go with it? How? Am I supposed to be casual about it? Am I supposed to pose a little, flex a little, try to impress her—maybe even turn her on? Am I supposed to check her out, give her a compliment? Is she going to expect me to do something to her?

"Um, Jennifer..."

She pressed into him tighter. He felt the soft curls of her pubic hair on his ass. Like a gust of wind, it blew all thought away. His cock was fully erect now, tingling under the ministrations of her hand.

But when the rush receded, the thoughts returned. They stirred the pot of his emotions. He felt his cock soften a little.

Then, another rush. Jennifer started kissing his shoulders. It was electric, and with the power back on, blood flowed back into his manhood. Jennifer's handiwork started to feel good again. As her kisses reached his neck, Mike started to relax...

Until the images hit him. Jennifer, kissing...touching...being kissed...being touched...by another man. Mike's heart seemed to contract, like it was being squeezed; he suddenly couldn't breathe; and Jennifer's touch felt almost painful. He tried to fight it, tried to recover...but he felt himself getting limp.

That sent matters into a tailspin. Now, in addition to heartbroken, he felt embarrassed, ashamed, impotent. Jennifer noticed his dying erection and tried a few tricks, but that only brought anger to the table.

I don't need this. I don't need the pressure. The pressure to perform...to respond to her...to get off for her. Fuck this.

"Jennifer," he said, not turning around to face her, "it's not...thanks, I guess, for trying but...it's not going to happen."

They stood there, not moving, in awkward silence. Jennifer started to speak, but Mike cut her off.

"Really. Maybe another time...please just let me finish my shower."

Dejected, Jennifer exited the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and went to her room to cry. In the shower, Mike fought tears as well.

* * *

It was a Friday afternoon at the schoolyard:

Mike was playing games again with Mikey and some other kids. Bobby Davis was there again, but this time, his mother was there too—sitting alone on a bench, watching. Taking a break from the games, Mike joined her. He was curious as to whether she was sober.

He tried to make small talk, but Collette seemed uncomfortable. Eventually, as if finally having summoned the courage, she spoke her mind.

"Mike, I'm sorry... I'm very sorry..."

"Don't worry about it, Collette. It wasn't a problem taking Bobby home—"

"No Mike, that's not what I was going to say...though I'm sorry for that too. What I...really want to say is, I'm sorry for those times when I...bothered you. I had no right. You're married, and it was wrong."

Mike was shocked. This didn't sound at all the Collette Davis with whom he'd become acquainted. Keeping one eye on Mikey, he listened attentively.

"Look, Mike...ever since my divorce, I've had problems...with a lot of things, but alcohol... especially. I'm not going to blame it for everything, but you probably figured out that I was...not right that time you had to bring Bobby home. Also, while I don't remember it very well, I think I was...out of line with you at the fundraiser. Probably other times too. I'm very sorry."

Mike tried to think of something to say but couldn't. Collette continued.

"I'm also...well, if you only knew what I went through...it's very lonely, and I guess I've had issues with...well, self-esteem. I've sought attention in the wrong ways...sometimes from the wrong people. You've probably heard some rumors about me; I don't know exactly what they are, but there's probably some truth in them. That, and the alcohol...I know it has to stop."

Mike still didn't know what to say, but underneath the awkwardness he felt something else. Hearing about someone else's problems made him feel a little better about his own. Plus, there was something special about a woman opening up to him—as opposed to, for example, lying and hiding things from him. He listened keenly.

"I realized after you came over...after I'd forgotten to pick up Bobby...that I had to get myself under control. I was so scared about what could have happened to him. I was ashamed about that, but also...well, there was something about how kind you were, how you stayed for a while. It motivated me. Motivated me to be...a better person. A person that would be deserving of...