I Hate Surprises Ch. 02

Afterwards I lay on my back, gasping like a fish for a few moments. Jennie gazed at me lovingly. "Sweetheart, that was amazing! Thank you!" I felt like I ought to say something else, but I didn't know what.

She kissed me gently on the cheek, then on the lips. We lay together quietly, enjoying the silence and each other's warmth, until Diana's murmurings from her room drew us up out of bed.

********

That night, and morning, were the turning point in the resurrection of our marriage. I moved back into our bedroom full-time, and for some time our sex life was as intense and as pleasurable as in the first months of our relationship. Inevitably it slowed down after a while, but a certain glow of rediscovery seemed to linger. For years after that I think sex was better than it had been in the period before Jennie's affair, maybe just because of our mutual sense of how close we had come to losing one another.

Our next session with Barbara after that night of spectacular sex was funny. When we came into her office she took one look at us and said, "I'm not usually given to speculation—but it's so obvious here that I can't resist. You finally went to bed together, right?"

We nodded. "And it was really great, right?" We nodded again, smiling broadly.

Barbara smiled too, as unreservedly as I'd ever seen. "I'm so glad for you. There were steps leading up to this one and there will be more in the future, but this was a really big one. I'm happy that it went so well."

********

HAPPY YEARS—AND A DEVASTATING SURPRISE

My moving back into our bedroom didn't mean our marital troubles were over. Nor did our finally stopping the sessions with Barbara. But both were steps leading along the right path.

I found that my love for Jennie was strong, even unshakeable, in the months and years after her affair. My anger ebbed and flowed. There were moments when thinking of her with that scumbag Anderson made me wild with fury, and I had to walk around or take deep breaths to calm myself down. But the general trend of my anger was downward—my episodes of rage grew less frequent and less severe. Whoever came up with "time heals all wounds" was onto something.

What took the longest to return was my trust in her. I simply wasn't able to take her fidelity for granted any longer, as I had been for the first seven years of our marriage. Now, any time she was at all late getting home from work; any time she was out of my sight for more than five minutes at a big party; any time she seemed out of sorts, or on the other hand more than usually amorous; and my heart tightened in my chest.

We talked about this, of course. We had discussed it with Barbara, and we kept talking about it. Jennie understood the reason for my feelings, and understood that she was the cause of them. She never reproached me for my jealous worries, and was always prepared to give me every last detail of where she had been, why she was a few minutes late, etc.

It was probably more than five years before these worries diminished to a level where they were easily manageable for me. But Jennie was not only faithful, she was resolutely patient and sympathetic.

What helped me, finally, to relax my level of suspicion and fear was that our life together was so happy—perhaps even happier than before the affair, because we were both trying harder. Jennie took every opportunity to show her love for me: in words, with little gestures like a special dinner, or going out of her way to find my favorite wine that was hard to get.

My favorite way she demonstrated her affection, of course, was in bed. She sucked my cock much more frequently, and at times volunteered to do it without my asking. She occasionally whispered to me in bed, "is there some new way you'd like to try?" though previously she had been rather conservative about sexual positions. She bought sexy lingerie every once in a while as a treat for me, and kept it on while I made love to her, which I found very exciting.

Not that Jennie had become a wild woman. She didn't use dirty words, and dirty talk from me still turned her off. And she didn't propose wild fantasies for us to act out, or offer to have me tie her up, or buy dildos and vibrators for us to play with. I would have enjoyed trying all those things, but I was happy with what we did have. Our sex life wouldn't have made for best-selling pornographic videos, but it was very loving and very satisfying for both of us.

My business continued to grow. I had a number of large clients, and after a few years the company was doing more than $5 million of business each year. Terri was wonderfully capable at tending to the day-to-day operations and managing the staff, which left me free to work on attracting new accounts.

Jennie also continued to be successful in her real-estate work. By the time Diana was nine our family income was up over $300,000, and we bought a large home in a beautiful suburb west of St Louis. We also applied for membership in one of the fancy country and golf clubs in the area. I had played a little golf growing up, and I really enjoyed the game. I hoped Jennie would take it up too.

Our final interview for club membership was typical of so many events in our life together. We'd passed all the financial hurdles, and the interview was for the snooty types who ran the club to see if we would be socially acceptable. Well, one look at my wife was all it took! They about fell all over themselves being ingratiating to her; if I'd been a drooling idiot they probably wouldn't even have noticed! We were accepted within a week.

After that the club, and in particular golf, became a more and more important part of our life. It turned out that Jennie loved to play, and with some lessons she improved rapidly. Within a couple of years she and I were both shooting in the 80s (well, some of the time...).

It also turned out that our daughter Diana was a natural. She'd played soccer as a youngster, but once she tried golf she got very serious at it. She became good enough to win some local and state-wide junior tournaments in her teens; and with her excellent high-school grades she wound up receiving a golf scholarship to the University of North Carolina.

Somehow Jennie and I had never gotten around to having any other children after Diana. The years after the affair were very unsettled—and then after that it maybe seemed too late. I don't think we regretted it very much, at least until Diana went off to UNC. Then we both felt the "empty nest" very keenly—the house sure seemed quiet!

But there was a positive side too, of course. Jennie and I now had the time and freedom, along with the money, to travel and do what we liked. In Diana's freshman year I surprised Jennie with a mid-winter trip to South America, where we had never been (and where it was mid-summer). We both liked to try new golf courses, so in September one year we flew to England and played some of the great old courses there and in Scotland.

When we weren't vacationing, my desire to keep my business growing meant that I had to travel more. Even ten years and more after Jennie's affair, this made me nervous. I tried hard to give Jennie a lot of attention and affection just before a trip, and to keep in close touch with her while I was away. I had stopped saying "Jennie, I'm still afraid you might cheat on me", or anything like that, but I imagine she still knew of my worries.

For our twentieth wedding anniversary, back when Diana was still in high school, we'd had a big surprise party. Frankly I'm not sure Jennie was all that surprised—I suspect she knew I was up to something, and twentieth anniversaries are usually celebrated in high style—but she pretended to be surprised. It was a big gathering of family on both sides, as well as many of our oldest and best friends from out of town. We had it at a fancy rooftop restaurant in downtown St Louis, with a fabulous view by night over the city.

Our twenty-fifth anniversary would be in the June of Diana's senior year. Knowing that Jennie would be on the lookout for any sort of surprise around that time, I decided more than a year ahead to arrange something special, and to do it months ahead of time.

Jennie loved the ballet—we had made a couple of trips to New York and Chicago over the years to see the best ballet troupes perform. So I ordered tickets for a Saturday night performance in early December by the American Ballet Theater, on tour in Chicago. I planned an elaborate weekend for the two of us: hotel, limos, champagne, fancy restaurants, the works. And I even collaborated with Diana, in secret, to shop for a new evening gown for Jennie to wear.

With years of practice in surprising my wife, I tried to think of everything. I told her a couple of weeks ahead of times that I would be away on business the weekend of December 9-10. There was nothing unusual about that, so she was not suspicious.

Then I had my friend Terri, who was also good friends with Jennie, call to invite her to the theater on Friday Dec. 9. This was a ruse—I just wanted to make sure that Jennie wouldn't make any other plans for that night. I had Terri arrange to pick up Jennie at our house at about 6 pm. They would go have dinner, then see the play together.

I never left town that day—I just said a pretend farewell to Jennie, then spent the day at work. My plan was to get home before her, around 3 in the afternoon, and have the rest of my surprise all ready when she came home from work around 5 pm.

The first sign of trouble came around 2 that afternoon. Terri came into my office, a worried look on her face. "Brad, Jennie just called me to cancel for tonight. She said she's not feeling well, and she's going to rest at home."

I thought for a moment. "Well, Terri—it might be true, or she might have made some other plans. Either way it looks like my surprise might be in trouble. Was she calling you from home?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure. I didn't hear any of her office noises in the background."

"OK—thanks Terri," I said. "I think I'll head home quietly, and see what's going on."

********

A NASTY SURPRISE

I didn't know what I'd find when I got home, but I already feared something worse than just Jennie not feeling well. As I drove slowly towards the house, her car was there—but so was a dark blue BMW. I thought I recognized the car, but couldn't remember whose it was.

My heart sank. Could she possibly be screwing around on me again, after all this time? After nearly eighteen years? Trying hard not to jump to conclusions, I drove around the corner, parked my car out of sight, and walked back to the house.

I silently entered through the back door, and stood still in the living room, listening. There was no one downstairs. Upstairs I could hear music playing softly. Worse and worse... I climbed the stairs quietly. The music was coming from the radio in our bedroom.

Even before I reached the open bedroom door I could hear, over the music, the unmistakable sound I dreaded. The squeak of the bedsprings, the rhythmic grunting of two people fucking. My wife, fucking some other man—in our bed.

My first reaction was not anger so much as an absolute sadness—a sense of utter despair. This was the woman I'd been through so much with! We'd fought our way back from the brink after the first time I caught her cheating. Eighteen years later, I had gotten to be so sure that was the last time too.

We were in our mid-forties: I'd been looking forward to 30 more happy years with Jennie. Years of traveling, playing golf, relaxing; maybe playing with our grandchildren some day. My beautiful, loving, fun wife, who was going to be with me through our happy golden years together. Except that she was screwing some other guy in our bed.

I've said before that in times of emotional stress I tend to get cool and decisive. And it happened again. After just a minute of despair—even grief—the adrenalin kicked in and I began thinking, planning.

I went quietly downstairs, got the digital camera, and returned to the bedroom door. Because of the shape of the room I knew I could lie on the floor, inch slightly into the room, and be able to shoot photos of the bed without being seen. I had to know who was fucking my wife, and I wanted to have proof.

When I cautiously slid into the room, there was Jennie, and there on top of her, gasping and lunging, was George Atherton. He was a handsome, distinguished-looking man of about 60, the President of our church congregation. We knew him and his wife Angela quite well, and Jennie had worked with him as Vice-President of the Ladies' Auxiliary of the church.

Even at that bitter moment it occurred to me how much he was like Marlon Anderson, Jennie's first extramarital lover: handsome, charming, and substantially older than she. Just like her boyfriend in high-school had been; just like the faculty member I'd caught her flirting with at Penn State had been.

Turning the flash off, I silently took about a dozen photos, more than enough to get all that I needed. I made sure to get George's face clearly in several shots. It may seem surprising, but I didn't then jump up and spoil the party. I had other plans in mind. I lay there and watched.

They were in missionary position, and it looked like George was getting close to coming. He had been saying things to Jennie earlier, talking about how lovely she was, but now he was doing nothing but thrusting and grunting, holding himself up on his elbows.

I watched Jennie lying under him, her head turned to the side. I knew her well enough to know she wasn't enjoying the fuck. There was a look of strain on her face, not pleasure, and she wasn't responding at all to George's increased intensity. Whatever this was about for Jennie, it wasn't sexual pleasure or excitement.

George reached his orgasm, climaxing with a roar of pleasure. Under him Jennie just grimaced, looking as though she was just waiting for it to be over. After a minute, he rolled off and collapsed beside her. I quietly slid myself back out of the room into the hall, where I sat against the wall and listened.

After a minute George began to speak to her. "Jennie, sweetheart, that was marvelous! You are so beautiful, so desirable ... making love with you is like a miracle! I never dreamed it could be so exciting."

Jennie didn't respond—instead I heard the sounds of them shifting in bed, and then a couple of kisses. Then he said, "darling, let's get cleaned up, then I'll take you to dinner. I made a reservation at Il Trentino for us tonight." Il Trentino was a very fancy place, but somewhat out of town. I guess he figured no one he knew would be likely to spot them there.

"All right, George," she answered. "Let me take a shower first, it will take me longer to get ready." I heard her move into the bathroom and shut the door, then the sound of the water began.

I thought about what I'd just heard. Jennie's response to George sounded cool, even a little distant, certainly not particularly affectionate or aroused. Combined with what I'd seen, it was clear she hadn't enjoyed the sex the way he had. And his words to her made it sound like this might have been their first time in bed together, In any case they certainly hadn't been doing this for weeks.

Knowing what I had to do next, I waited quietly in the guestroom, listening to them get dressed. From their conversation it was clear that they'd had lunch that day, and then he'd talked Jennie into coming back here and going to bed with him. I knew that Jennie had called Terri at 2 pm to cancel their theater plans, so Jennie must not have been planning to jump into bed with Atherton until after their lunch. He must have poured on the charm then.

It was also clear from their words that this had been their first fuck—and I could tell that Jennie was regretting it, although she didn't let Atherton know it. And she seemed perfectly ready to go out to a nice dinner with him.

I waited until they headed down the stairs, and then I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, and Atherton's BMW driving away. I figured they'd come back here after dinner—perhaps for another session in bed, or if not then he'd drop her off. In any case, he had a wife at home, so he wouldn't take Jennie back there.

I had a couple of hours. Oddly enough, I was hungry—so I made a quick sandwich, ate it, and cleaned up the kitchen. Then I headed for my computer, downloaded the photos, and did a little digital editing. I picked out the six that most conclusively showed Atherton fucking someone other than his wife, and then I carefully fuzzed out Jennie's face and enough of her hairstyle so that she wasn't identifiable.

Then I emailed the six photos to my office computer, printed out one copy of each of them, and deleted all of them from the home computer and the camera.

Two more things to do. I called Terri, told her the short version of the bad news, and asked if she was free for the weekend. "We don't have to go to the ballet, but I've got the ride to Chicago, the suite in the hotel, and the restaurant reservation. I'm sure as hell not going to hang around here this weekend, Terri, and I'd be grateful if you could come with me."

"Of course, Brad. I'd like that. Let's try to have some fun, even under the circumstances. I'll pack a bag, and you can pick me up at my house whenever you're ready. And Brad .... I am just so sorry!"

"Thanks, Terri. I'll see you in a while."

Sitting back down at the computer, I composed a letter to Jennie, laying out in detail what my plans for the surprise weekend had been. I really wanted her to suffer, knowing what she had missed by fucking that son-of-a-bitch!

****** Dearest Jennie:

This year will be our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I so much wanted to express my love for you by doing something special, and I knew I could never surprise you near the date of our actual anniversary, so I had planned a wonderful getaway for us this weekend. Here's what we would have been doing:

I would surprise you today around 5 pm when you came home from work, with flowers and a bottle of champagne.

At 6 pm a limousine would pick us up and take us to the airport—I had already packed your things for the weekend.

We would fly to Chicago on a private jet that a client and friend was lending us for the weekend.

In Chicago another limousine would take us to the Top of the Mark Hotel, where I've reserved a penthouse suite for us. Waiting for us in our suite would be more champagne and a late supper I ordered for us.

When we went to bed you would have found a new nightie I picked out for you waiting there.

Tomorrow we could have spent doing whatever you liked: going to a museum, some early Christmas shopping, walking around town, or just enjoying some private time in our suite.

We had a dinner reservation for tomorrow at Chez Louis, the best French restaurant in Chicago. After that, two seats in the center orchestra for the American Ballet Theater.

To make sure you had something to wear, Diana and I picked out a gorgeous evening dress for you—it's hanging in the closet in our suite. And I was bringing along a sapphire necklace and matching earrings I bought you to go with the dress.

On Sunday, we were going to have a leisurely brunch, perhaps a stroll, and then fly on the jet back home in the early evening.

It would have been a special time for us, and a way for me to show you how much I love and cherish you—a way for me to thank you for twenty-five happy years and look forward to twenty-five more.

I am so sorry that it won't be happening.

Your loving husband, Brad

******

I wrote it on purpose in the most affectionate way I could. I felt no need to throw curses and recriminations at her—I figured she'd be harder on herself than anything I could say.