Guilty

It was more than twenty minutes before his stomach calmed down enough for him to stagger to his feet, wash his face, and leave the men's room. The meeting had broken up. Peter retrieved his papers, left them on his desk, and told the Sales Department secretary he was going home for the afternoon.

Julie looked at him sympathetically and said, "I hope it's nothing serious, Peter. You do look a little green around the edges!"

Peter found that he had to force himself to concentrate on his driving. Twice the light changed without his noticing, and drivers behind him made sure that their horns were working properly. All that filled his mind was the most terrible, most upsetting image he'd ever experienced: Andrea beneath another man in the act of love, sighing and moaning, rolling her hips up at him, kissing him deeply, then coming explosively.

When he got home Peter went straight to the bedroom and stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor. He quickly brushed his teeth to get the sour taste out of his mouth, then headed for bed. He was exhausted.

But his thoughts and fears wouldn't let him rest. The image of Andrea with another man tormented him, and before long he was weeping, unable to control the feelings of loss and pain that welled up in him.

Peter knew that he had done the same thing—that he was as guilty as he now believed Andrea was. He also knew, from his own much-regretted infidelity, how easy it was to find yourself in bed with a stranger. And he knew that it in no way changed the overwhelming affection he felt for his wife. Presumably she still loved him as much as ever, or why the royal treatment ever since his return?

But these rational thoughts scarcely stood a chance against his pain. Seeing Andrea's ecstasy while another man pumped into her, the images playing like a nightmarish porn film inside his head, made it hard to focus on anything else. Peter had a long, miserable hour before he finally managed to sleep.

When he awoke it was nearly 5:30. Andrea would be home soon—and he had to decide how he was going to handle the situation. As he rapidly re-made the bed, hung up his clothes and jumped into the shower, Peter realized that he wasn't yet ready to confront her. By the time he was drying himself off, he knew that he'd have to dissemble for a couple of days, play the loving and unsuspecting husband until he'd worked out a plan.

The next 36 hours were among the strangest in their marriage. A husband and wife, both very much in love, both secretly tormented by their private thoughts, treating one another with great affection. Yet both were uncomfortable, and guilty, about their dissembling.

It was actually far worse for Peter. Andrea still excoriated herself in private for what she had done with James, but she was comforted by two thoughts. First, she knew that she would never, ever cheat on Peter again. It had been a momentary thrill, but an utterly trivial pleasure compared with the guilt and remorse she felt afterwards—the phrase "just not worth it" captured her feelings perfectly. Second, she was increasingly sure that everything was fine between her and her husband. Their bond seemed tighter than ever this week, as he responded to her expressions of affection and sexual desire with similar affection and eagerness.

Peter, though, was in agony. Pretending that he was fine was the hardest thing he'd ever done—harder even than concealing his guilt after his own fling. He couldn't stop imagining Andrea with her anonymous lover, and the awareness of his own conduct didn't prevent him from suffering terrible feelings of hurt and betrayal. Had the other man been better-hung than he was, a more exciting lover? Had he made Andrea wish she'd married someone else, or just that she could fuck the guy again?

For that matter, how could Peter know that she'd only strayed once? Could this possibly be a continuing affair, despite her obvious love for her husband? Or was it not really love at all—just guilt, or pity, or an apology for cuckolding him?

By Saturday afternoon, his moodiness and worry exceeded his ability to conceal it, and Andrea asked him about it over lunch.

"What's bothering you, Peter? Usually when you have something on your mind you just say it—but I can see that something is rattling around in there." She smiled fondly at him as she spoke. Andrea had no concern that what was bothering her husband had anything to do with her indiscretion—the loving week they'd had together had relieved her mind of that worry.

Peter gazed at her, his heart full of love, guilt, pain, and worry. He'd been waiting for the perfect time to have this awful conversation. It didn't feel so perfect to him now, but he realized there wasn't much point in waiting.

He looked at her and spoke gently. "Was this the first time you cheated on me?"

Andrea looked at him in shock. "Peter, I...I don't know what you're talking about!"

He just smiled, so sweetly and so sadly that tears came to her eyes. "Honey, you don't have to lie to me. That would be the worst thing of all. Let's just talk about what happened, OK?"

Suddenly she was sobbing, her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry! I didn't....it...I never meant to do it, Peter! It was just once, I swear, one stupid mistake last Saturday night.

"I'd give anything to take it back, anything not to hurt you."

She cried into her hands, and when Peter came around the kitchen table to hold her, stroking her hair gently, she just cried harder. It was several minutes before she could calm down a little, and catch her breath.

She looked up at him, very afraid; then shocked to see him smiling sadly, not glaring at her in fury.

"I understand more than you think I do, honey," he said, quietly. Then, taking her hand, "why don't we go sit in the living room and talk?"

Feeling numb, empty and afraid, she allowed Peter to lead her to the living room and get her settled on the couch. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. Leaning forward, he took her hand again.

"Before we go any further, I have to tell you something. I love you far too much to pretend I'm morally superior. About two years ago in Phoenix I had a one-night stand. Since then I have regretted it with every part of me. I came home, determined to just forget it and to make you the happiest wife in the world.

"And I would never have mentioned it, until...until now. But it's not fair to let you think you're the only guilty party."

Andrea began to cry. "I...I don't believe this. Peter, how could you do this to me? I love you so much, and..."

Suddenly the absurdity of her resentment struck her, and she cried harder. Without warning she leapt up from the couch and ran for the stairs.

Peter cried out, "honey, wait!" but she ignored him. In a minute he could hear the bedroom door slam, and he sighed heavily. After a few minutes he went back into the kitchen, picked up the rest of his lunch, and took it outside to a chair in the backyard. When he finished eating he just stared out at the dogwood trees, trying hard to think about nothing.

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After about an hour he heard the back door open, and Andrea pulled up a chair to sit facing him. She had washed her face and brushed her hair, but her eyes were red and she still looked terribly upset.

"Peter, I.... I'm just so sorry. I love you, and I'm so very sorry."

"I know," he said, and took her hand. "I love you too—and believe me, I'm sorry too, for all of it."

They were silent, and then he pulled her onto his lap, where she burrowed her head against his neck and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"How are we ever going to get past this?" she whispered.

"Two ways," he replied quietly. "Talking, and making love. Lots of both, I think—in either order."

She pulled away to look into his eyes, and said, "I just can't...make love yet, Peter. It's too soon, and my head is full of pictures of you with...whoever it was in Phoenix.

"Was she beautiful? Were her tits bigger than mine, did she turn you on more than I do?" Suddenly Andrea was crying again, and he held her close, stroking her hair.

"How could you do it?" she cried. "How could you...just jump into some other woman's bed. Don't you know how much I adore you?

"God, I know I sound like an idiot, Peter, given what I did, but I can't help it! Thinking about you with someone else is tearing me apart!"

Then she cried harder, while he held her, comforting her with little murmurs, feeling her pain and his own. Smiling to himself at how ridiculous their situation was.

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"Let me tell you about Phoenix first, okay? There actually isn't too much to tell."

They were still in the backyard, sitting side-by-side in two chairs, and Andrea was clutching his hand tightly. She just nodded, her eyes fixed on his face.

"It was after a routine sales meeting with Tychron. I had dinner with two of their usual guys, the ones I always do business with, and they'd brought along a new colleague named Noelle, so that she could learn about our contract with them.

"The meeting had gone exceptionally well—I was authorized to provide a 10% discount on our stuff since this was our fourth contract with them, and they realized that they would look good to their superior in the purchasing department, so we were all feeling cheerful. We went to a very nice restaurant, and had three bottles of wine or so.

"So we were all pretty high, and for no reason I can figure out Noelle seems to have decided I was attractive. As we had dessert and coffee she started sliding her bare foot up and down my leg under the table. I was completely shocked—and I tried to ignore it, but I didn't want to say anything in front of Michael and Ted. Then when they got ready to leave Noelle said she would stay a little longer—she wanted to learn more from me about our business, and how the previous contracts had been structured.

"All of a sudden we were alone, sitting side-by-side in this nice restaurant, and now Noelle had a hand on my knee! I reminded her I was a married man and asked her to stop. But she just grinned, and said she was 'only playing'."

Peter glanced at Andrea, but she remained silent, looking at him very seriously.

"The rest is pretty predictable. I wanted to get out of there—I was aroused and pretty tipsy, but I knew I couldn't do anything with Noelle. She volunteered to give me a ride to my hotel, and when we got there she parked and walked right in with me.

"I'm so sorry, Andrea—I...I had every opportunity to stop her. It would have been easy, though I would have had to be pretty forceful. But...I just didn't.

"We got up to my room, and in five minutes we were naked and fucking on the bed."

Andrea knew this was where the story was headed all along—but actually hearing it still hurt.

"Was she good? Was she better than I am? Younger and sexier and hotter?" Tears showed on her cheeks.

"No, baby." Peter took her hand and kissed it. "It was drunken, thoroughly ordinary sex. It was exciting, because it was someone new and she was really into it. But as soon as we were done I felt terrible—awful! She wanted to cuddle, and stay for a while and do it again later, but I felt too guilty. I know it pissed her off, but I got her to get dressed and leave after a few minutes."

"And then I cursed myself, spent the rest of that weekend feeling like shit, and flew home determined to make it up to you. To be the best husband in the world, someone worthy of you. And never to breathe a word of it."

They sat for a minute, and Andrea said, "that's what I decided too. 'I did this awful thing—but I won't make it worse by letting Peter know and hurting him so deeply. I'll just love him to death, and make it up to him'."

"Can you tell me about it now? You said it was Saturday night. God forbid it was someone we know, from Diana's party?"

Andrea quickly told him the whole story, watching fearfully as Peter looked away from her and his jaw tightened. When she was done she just waited.

Finally he turned back to her. "Sounds like it was pretty hot, babe," he said in a cold voice. "Too bad he doesn't live closer than LA, so you could get another crack at him."

Andrea jumped to her feet, pulling her hand away from his. "That's not fair!" she cried. "I told you it wasn't anything so special! It was sex, damn it—sex like you and that slut Noelle had. And it was fun and I enjoyed it, Peter!

"I was drunk and being with someone else was exciting and yes, he made me come! So what—Noelle made you come, didn't she?

"And I've felt like shit ever since then, and done everything I could think of to show you how much I love you and want you. James has got nothing you don't have, Peter! And he doesn't have me, either—you do! Unless you don't want me any more..."

Her voice trailed off into silence, and they sat some time without speaking, turned a little away from one another, both lost in their own thoughts.

At last Peter turned to her, and forced a smile. She could see the traces of a few tears on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said. "You are absolutely right.

"It's just that...well, I can't help having two feelings. They're all jumbled up in my head, and it's hard to sort them out.

"The first is the pain of knowing that another man got to...to love you. I can't stop seeing you with him, imagining your pleasure, seeing you kissing him, holding him—seeing him fucking you, turning you on."

He got up and started to pace.

"It just tears me up—and it frightens me. What if you decide that other men are really what you need? What if...what if I'm not enough for you any more?"

She got up and went to her husband, silently putting her arms around his waist from behind and pressing herself against him—offering a wordless answer.

"The second feeling, of course, is that I'm just as guilty as you—I did it too. And I of all people know now how easy it is to make that mistake. I wouldn't have thought I could be tempted into such a goddam stupid thing, but I was; and I fell."

Still holding him, she said, "Peter, I swear to you that you're all the man I want. You said you felt terrible after...after fucking Noelle? Well it took me a little longer—until the next morning. Maybe I was drunker than you.

"But nobody has ever felt worse that I did that morning! And if you have any fears that this will happen again, trust me—now that I've been through both sides of this, my own guilt and then imagining you with somebody else—all I can say is, never again. Never never never."

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They took a walk around the neighborhood, Andrea's arm linked through Peter's, strolling slowly, not talking. Occasionally she'd squeeze his arm with her hand, or he'd stop for a moment and kiss her hair.

When they got back to the house it was nearly dinnertime. Andrea said, "how about cheese and bread, and some soup?"

Peter nodded, and without speaking further, they moved smoothly around the kitchen. Peter got out some cheese they both liked, and sliced the French bread. He opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Andrea got the homemade soup from earlier in the week out of the refrigerator and heated it up.

They sat side-by-side at the kitchen table, eating and smiling at one another, neither of them feeling the need to say anything. When they were done, Andrea put the dishes in the sink while Peter corked the wine. Then, without a word being said, they took each other's hand and headed for the bedroom.

Making love was tentative at first, a little careful. Peter could see Andrea was nervous, and he himself had more trouble getting an erection than usual. It seemed like it might all go wrong, until Peter said, "why don't we just get under the covers and cuddle?"

They lay together for a while, Peter on his back, Andrea on her side nestled tightly into his body, both of them half-asleep, enjoying one another's warmth. When Peter began to touch her he went slowly, tracing circles on her back with his hand, then sliding down to her hip, her thigh, and back up again.

After a few minutes he gently rolled her onto her back, and turned on his side next to her. Kissing her lips, her cheek, her ear, her neck, he caressed her breasts gently with his hand, taking his time, waiting for the little sounds of pleasure to come from her throat.

Later, he slid down to suckle her nipples, while his hand strayed between her legs, caressing her moist pussy and teasing her clit. He built the excitement slowly, enjoying her occasional groans and sighs, feeling her hands tighten in his hair as she got more aroused. He didn't stop when her breathing got heavy, and kept stroking her gently as her orgasm crested with a series of explosive gasps.

She jerked and spasmed, and he held her tightly in his arms. After more than a minute, she lay quietly, and opened her eyes to smile up at him. Her face was relaxed, happy.

She pulled his head down to hers for a long, deep kiss, then gently pushed him down on his back. Using both her hands, she caressed his chest and arms, then his belly, his thighs, and finally his cock and balls.

She lay with her head on his chest, as her teasing fingers brought his cock to a throbbing hardness. Then she threw back the covers and pulled him up on top of her. "Be inside me now, baby," she said.

He entered her slowly, groaning with the pleasure of her heat, and felt her thighs press tight against his hips. At first he held himself up on his elbows and they watched one another's eyes, enjoyed each other's excitement as he stroked in and out.

But as Peter got more excited, he lay fully on top of her, his head buried against her neck. Their motions accelerated, and he felt her hips pushing back harder against him with each thrust into her.

Peter knew he couldn't last much longer, and he could hear that Andrea was close too. She clutched him tight, and he heard her say, "you, baby, only you!" His orgasm shot through him, and in his ecstasy of pleasure he could feel her coming as well, her body twisting and heaving beneath him.

They lay on their sides, pressed close together. Andrea pulled back far enough to look into Peter's face, seeing the same peaceful, happy expression she felt on her own face. She kissed him, gently; then smiled at him and nestled her head back into his shoulder. They slept.