Tunnel of Love Pt. 03

Collette placed her hand on Bobby's forehead, smiled at the now-cooler feel of it, turned off the table lamp, and settled back into the chair to sleep.

* * *

Peter Wombert lay on his well-lit bed. Well-lit from certain directions, that is. Cameras were rolling—hidden cameras.

His dick felt great in young Genevieve Hartley's mouth. She was a good cocksucker. He'd trained her, after all.

Peter would not dream that night. At least, he would not remember any dreams in the morning. He never remembered his dreams, if he had any. He didn't care.

My life is a dream.

Peter also had little use for fantasies, as such. A fantasy, for him, was just a game plan. The game itself—the reality—was what he enjoyed.

My fantasies are reality. I've made them so. All but one, that is.

His one failure explained why, on this particular night, Genevieve Hartley was in his bedroom. She bore a certain resemblance to a young Jennifer Chancey. Even her nickname—Gen—was a reasonable approximation.

"That's it, Gen, suck my cock," he said casually before reflecting on recent events.

The private investigator who'd "couriered" Peter's little present for Mike had staked out the building, afterwards. Sure enough, not long after the delivery, Mike had emerged, looking hurried and shaken. He'd gotten in his car and driven straight home. The investigator followed.

How Peter had jumped for joy and laughed maniacally when he'd gotten the call that Mike was loading up his car with clothes and other possessions! In contrast, he hadn't quite known what to think when he'd heard that after driving away, Mike had briefly visited some office building. But then, what a fine bottle of wine Peter had opened when he'd gotten the call that Mike had then checked into a hotel!

It had gotten even better, though, because Peter's other private investigator had taken up a position at the Chancey residence when Mike had left. That investigator was on hand when Jennifer, driving like someone possessed, had pulled up to the house, screaming as soon as she'd opened the car door. Reportedly, the screams continued from one end of the house to the other, until a light went on upstairs and one final cry led to silence.

Fuck you, Jen. That's payback, Wombert-style.

Now you, Gen, I think it's time I fucked you properly.

While enjoying Genevieve's mouth, however, Peter couldn't stop thinking about Jennifer.

Now that Mikey's gone, I'm here, babe. No hard feelings; I'll take you in. As long as you take me in, like Gen's doing here.

Peter had already come once this evening, so he planned on drawing out his next orgasm. He made Genevieve get on her back, propped up on an elbow. Then, he straddled her, right in front of her face, and imagined her morphing into Jennifer.

Take it, Jen. Take my cock in your mouth.

Genevieve did. Peter began to thrust in and out.

"Do you like me fucking your face?" he asked.

"Mmmm..." Genevieve replied.

I love how you can't help but admit it, Gen. You're a good little submissive. Lucky for you that I helped you find out.

Now you, Jen...you might not like it. I used to imagine you liking it...loving it...loving me. Well, you blew it. Now you've been fucked a different way.

"Play with yourself," Peter commanded Genevieve. She complied.

That's right, put your hand between your legs, Jen. Rub your clit while I'm fucking your face. Hate how you're being used, but get wet and bothered all the same.

Peter continued thrusting through Genevieve's hand and into her mouth. Saliva and pre-cum were evident on both.

Oh, if I'd just had some leverage back then, Jen. If you hadn't convinced me that I had none, that I couldn't have you...I would not have been completely cruel. I might have let you stay with the boy scout; yes, definitely. I would have enjoyed fucking you on the side and sending you back to him, full of my cum. Like how I'll be sending Gen back to her unsuspecting wimp husband.

Peter briefly considered coming in Genevieve's mouth, but he wanted to prolong the tryst a little longer. Also, he wanted to see that look on her face when...

He pulled away from her and lay down, motioning for her to mount him. She did so, placing her hands on his chest. She began a slow grind.

We could have had so much fun, Jen. But instead, you pissed me off. Tell me, how did that work out for you?

Peter reached up and played with Genevieve's nipples. She responded by grinding a little faster, a little harder.

So what will you do, Jen, now that the boy scout is gone? Oh, I know you won't come to me. You won't turn to me for comfort. You made it clear that night that I disgust you. I'm sure my little fun with the video hasn't improved your attitude.

Keeping one hand on Genevieve's breast, Peter lowered his other hand and began to rub her clit with his thumb. Some women liked thumbs, some didn't, Peter had found. But he'd never asked Genevieve about her preference; it wasn't something you asked a slave.

I just wish this wasn't the end for us, Jen. I wish I had some leverage, now...something that you wanted; something that you needed. Mmmm, if you were here, in my house, pleading for it...ready to pay whatever price...

Like Gen here was willing, when her husband lost his job, they were deeply in debt, I happened to have an attractive opening for her husband on my payroll, and she happened to have three attractive openings—on her body—for me.

"Fuck me hard now, Gen," Peter said, increasing his attention to her clit. Tears were forming in her eyes, but she did not stop grinding on his cock.

I know you wouldn't want me now, Jen. You wouldn't beg for my cock. Not for real, at least.

Genevieve whimpered. Peter knew what that meant. "Are you going to come, Gen?"

"Y-y-yes...oh god..." she sobbed, tears streaming down her face now. Peter started bucking his hips while thumbing her clit strongly.

No, Jen, you'll never beg. But I do think you would come, Jen. I'm quite sure you would come. And that would be good enough for me—to see you hate it, fight it...and lose.

Like Gen here does...except now, she doesn't fight all that hard.

"Oh! Oh!" Genevieve cried as an orgasm ripped through her, making her bounce on Peter's cock. It brought him to the brink as well. His cock started to erupt.

Yes, Jen...to see you fight it...and fight it...and lose...

With those thoughts, Peter filled young Genevieve Hartley's tight, married pussy with his cum.

* * * * *

Sometimes mister I feel sunny and wild Lord I love to see my baby smile Then dark clouds come rolling by Two faces have I

CHAPTER 8: Restart / Switch User

Mike hadn't been hungry; these days, he wasn't eating much at all. On his lunch break, he'd substituted an errand for a meal. Now, back at work, he stared at the papers on his desk.

How did it come to this?

The cold formality of the document was a stark contrast to the warm, loving relationship he'd enjoyed for twelve years:

PETITIONER: John Michael Chancey

RESPONDENT: Jennifer Charlotte Chancey

I never liked my first name. Jennifer never liked her middle name. A case of "opposites attract," as they say? But they never say, "Opposites stay together."

Mike wasn't sure he was going to go through with it; maybe they would just stay separated, at least while Mikey was still a minor. But after the umpteenth nightmare, Mike had forced himself to see the lawyer, get some information, and maybe get the process started. The lawyer had been quick; he'd turned the paperwork around in just a day.

Strange. All the dating, the wooing. The engagement, the wedding. Twelve years...then you file this piece of paper, the lawyers handle it, and it's done. Your marriage is done...undone.

Yet, Mike thought, the paperwork was just that—paperwork—like a death certificate. And divorce was just a process—a ceremony—like a funeral. Before the certificate, before the funeral, someone dies; or, in the case of a marriage, some thing dies—a relationship.

The paperwork, the ceremony...they're not what kills it. It's already dead.

Before the video arrived, Mike had come to believe Jennifer. That she'd not gotten physical with Coltez until that one night. That it had not been something she'd had planned. That it had been pretty tame. And most importantly, that she'd always loved him and always would.

Belief was one thing. Forgiveness was something else, and trust yet another thing; but he'd been moving towards them. He'd mostly gotten over how Jennifer deceived him in order to volunteer at the hospital. The fact that children were involved, terminally ill children—well, given Jennifer's personality and history, he could see how she could do something stupid over all that. In light of the consequences she'd suffered and the counseling she'd gone through, he didn't expect that she would deceive him again.

The physical stuff with Coltez had still been bothering him, but Coltez was a player, Jennifer was vulnerable...it was an unusual, improbable combination of circumstances. And she'd stopped, before it had gotten serious—or so he'd been led to believe. It was one isolated incident in an otherwise spotless twelve-year marriage, for which Jennifer seemed desperate to atone. The more Mike had reconnected with Jennifer emotionally and sexually, the more possible it had seemed to him that he could put the whole mess behind him.

But now that he'd seen the video...

She was full of shit all along. She didn't just "go for a drink," she went to his damn apartment. She didn't just get "a little physical," she lovingly sucked his dick and then fucked him God knows how many ways. And the guy's a stud—of course she wanted him all along; probably at first sight.

All the questions that had haunted him after Black Sunday had returned with a vengeance. Had Jennifer ever really loved him? Had she thought she loved him, only to discover—twelve years later—that it was a shallow love, and that she wanted something more?

Or is she just psychotic? Sick in the head?

The crazy thing, Mike realized, was that he still loved Jennifer. He suspected, however, that the Jennifer he loved was just a memory of someone who once was—or a fantasy of someone who never was. The "current" Jennifer, the real Jennifer, the Jennifer in the video—that woman obviously didn't want or need him.

But she broke it off, on her own initiative. She's been to counseling with me. She's been loving, sexual...

Heck, since I moved out, she's still trying to get me back. It doesn't make any sense. Unless...of course.

How did he know that Jennifer had dumped James? All he had to go by was her word, which was now manifestly worthless. She dumped him? More likely, Mike thought, it was the other way around.

He dumped her. Yup, it all fits. The guy fucked her brains out that night—maybe others. Then, that night, he kicked her to the curb. That's what players do after a conquest: move on to the next one.

It explains why she came home crying. And it's why she stayed with me—she had no choice. Plus, she was feeling rejected...and there I was, ready and willing to treat her like a princess. What a pathetic sap.

I really thought we'd gotten over the hump. Sure, like the Boss says, the road was going to be long, the line was going to be thin—but I was going to walk it; walk like a man and be tougher than the rest. Now that I know the truth...the hell with all that.

I'm not going to be her consolation prize.

Mike wasn't sure how or when the legal niceties—divorce, separation, whatever—were going to play out. For Mikey's sake, he decided to hold off on the paperwork for a while. But in all other respects, he decided, he should try to move on.

* * *

That same evening, Jennifer sat in the den, staring at the photograph of her sister.

What should I do, Sis? If only I wasn't alone. If only you were here...to help me.

As Jennifer continued to stare, it happened again: The photograph seemed to change. Then, in her head, Jennifer heard her sister's voice—or a grown-up version of it. Was she losing her mind? It would be small wonder.

"You already know what to do, Jennifer. You just don't want to do it."

I already know?

"Yes, you do."

I do? I don't know anything! Mike thinks I had sex with James...and worse, that I lied to him about it, just when he was starting to trust me again! He doesn't believe me...he'll never believe what I say!

"Seeing is believing, Jennifer."

Seeing? See what? There was nothing more on that video. There's nothing to...oh...no, I couldn't...how would I get...

"You'll figure it out, Sis. I'm disappointed in you in so many ways, but there's one thing you've shown: It's that when your back is against the wall and the stakes are highest, you fight."

But I don't see how I could get it...and would it really make a difference? Would it really change things?

"You wonder, but that's not why you hesitate."

I don't understand, Sis! You think I need to get it, but—

"You know you need to get it. You're afraid of what it will cost, but that's not your greatest fear. No, you're afraid of what will happen if you do get it."

Sis, I still don't understand...please...

"I was there with you, Jennifer, that night in James' apartment. You brought me there, when you brought out your pain. When the reckoning comes, Jennifer, I will be with you again, if you take me. I will help you face your trial."

Wh-what?

"I'll be your Bible to swear upon. To help you tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

I don't understand. What does this have to do with James and getting the—

"It has everything to do with James and nothing with getting it! And you've got it backwards, Jennifer. Getting it is just the first thing, and it's not the thing I can help you with. Later, when it's down to you and Mike—that's when you'll need me."

Need you for what, Sis? For what?

"For your trial, Jennifer. For the crucible..."

The photograph seemed to change again. The voice fell silent. Jennifer shouted at it, but nothing happened.

Feeling a strange compulsion, Jennifer took the small photograph out of the frame. She folded it and placed it in her purse. Then, as if a spell had dissipated, she found herself thinking clearly—more clearly than she had in a long time.

Yes, I know what I need to get. I just don't know how. Could I...just go to his apartment and ask him for it? What if he doesn't have a copy anymore—what if he gave it all to Peter? What if he does have it, but just won't give it to me?

Jennifer's heart seized as another thought struck her.

And could I bear to see him again? Is that what Sis meant by my trial? No, she said that would be later...but still, I can't really go to James, can I? Too much risk, too little hope of reward. On the other hand, what choice do I have?

* * *

It wasn't Friday yet—only Wednesday—but Mike wanted to see Mikey. He left work early and drove to Mikey's school in time for dismissal. He didn't want to talk to Jennifer, so he kept his distance as the children filed out of the building.

There's my boy. Damn, spying on a kid...I feel like a pervert.

Once again, Mike wondered how it had come to this. He'd never seen himself as one of those divorced or separated men who dropped by school, seemingly irregularly, causing a stir among the moms.

"Look, there's so-and-so..."

"You know, I heard..."

"It's really a shame for little..."

Well, I won't give them anything negative to say about me. I'm not leaving Jennifer to "find myself," or for another woman, or for drugs or alcohol. I'm leaving because she cheated on me and lied about it. Let 'em gossip about that.

Mike had decided that for Mikey's sake, he'd dodge questions about the breakup as best he could, but he wondered if Jennifer would handle it the same way. Would she instead tell family, friends, and colleagues the truth? Might she instead lie, as she'd lied to him?

Suddenly, Jennifer appeared at the top of a stairway, shouting at Mikey to get his attention. One of the moms gave her an "I'm watching him" in parent sign language. "Bring him in when you have to leave," Jennifer signed back. "Okay," the mom signed off. Jennifer went back into the building, presumably to continue preparing for the next day's class.

As Mike watched her, his resolve to leave her faded. For a few precious moments, he saw his lover, his best friend, and the mother of his child. All seemed right in the world. It had happened every time he'd seen her since Black Friday.

But then, as on those previous occasions, the G-rated previed ended and the feature horror flick started. Instead of his loving wife, Mike saw a woman who had sat on a couch, moaning as a man who was not her husband kissed and fondled her. A woman who had deceived him. A woman who did not, in fact, love him.

"Hey, you could get arrested, hiding here and watching kids like a stalker."

Mike recognized the voice. It surprised him—not the voice, but the fact that he recognized it.

"Hey," he said, turning his head towards Collette.

Wow, she looks good.

The two women were a study in contrasts. Jennifer had short, brown hair; Collette's hair was long and blonde. Before the troubles, Jennifer had usually been tanned and toned to the max; whereas Collette's skin was fair, and her body had a more natural look.

Mike had used to love the way Jennifer had taken care of her body. Now, however, it hurt him to think about it. He wondered if she'd done it not for his sake but to get attention from others.

Attention from guys like Coltez.

"They're good together, aren't they?" said Collette. It rankled Mike, until he realized Collette was talking about Mikey and Bobby.

"Um...yeah."

"Mike...how are you doing? I've been worried sick about you ever since last week, when you told me that you'd...moved out...that Jennifer had...you know."

Funny thing, that. I've hardly told anyone else. But when we ran into each other on Friday, it just came right out.

"Yeah, well...thanks. I'm...getting along. I went to a law—" Mike stopped himself.

Why is it that I feel like blabbing to this woman whom I hardly know? Is it because she's "been there, done that?" Or is it because I'm lonely, and she's attractive...and available...

"Anyway," Mike said, "I'm not here to pick up Mikey. I just wanted to see him. I guess I should be going."

"You're not even going to say hello to him?"

"No...I wasn't planning on it. We—Jennifer and I—had a bad scene here the other day. I don't need that again. Mikey doesn't need it, either."

Collette put her hand on Mike's back. It felt warm and comforting. On an impulse, Mike put his arm around her waist.

"So," he said, "how are you doing? I've been...concerned about you, too. Are you...you know, staying..."

Collette shifted a little but did not try to move away from Mike's arm. If anything, she ended up closer to him.

"Yes," she answered, "I'm still on the wagon. It's getting easier; a little easier. Bobby's noticed a difference, too. I never realized how much I was hurting him with..."

Collette started to sob. As she did, her hand moved up Mike's back to his far shoulder and squeezed it. In response, Mike held her a little tighter with his arm. She, in turn, started to lean her head on his near shoulder. She stopped herself, but Mike had noticed.

"That's what kills me the most," he said. "What's going to happen to Mikey if... Anyway, I'm impressed with how you're...taking care of yourself, and Bobby. You should be very proud. I hope I can be that strong, for Mikey."