Intuition

Most people think that intuition is bullshit, or that there's no such thing, or that people who act on intuition or hunches are deluding themselves. Fortunately for me, since my career is based on intuition, they're wrong.

I'm the Vice-President for Operations at Nexico, the biggest computer and cybersecurity firm you've never heard of. Our clients are everybody from Federal agencies to Fortune 500 corporations, and we bill about $8 billion a year. My job involves overseeing our work with our clients, as well as evaluating possible acquisitions.

In my work—and I imagine in most people's work—you need to be able to read the clues, sift through a lot of information, and get a feel for what matters and what doesn't. Intuition is really about seeing patterns that are vague, inchoate, that you notice but can't really put into words. I've always been good at that, at trusting my instincts even when I couldn't tell you exactly how I knew what I knew. And I've had a lot of success that way, and impressed a lot of people.

I'll give you an example, the one that made me a Vice-President. Two years ago we were finalizing the purchase of a start-up called Adverticon, which made ... well, the details don't matter. I was just middle-management then, and I'd supervised the checking of their code and sat in on the meetings with their representatives. There was something off—something not quite right. Some places where my engineers told me the code seemed a little too complex, too folded-in on itself. And when we discussed it with the Adverticon reps, their answers were very plausible, but not QUITE convincing.

So I stuck my neck out. I went to my boss—one day before the deal was supposed to close!— and said, "something's not quite right here. Give my guys 72 hours to work through the product one more time before you sign."

Well, I got threatened and yelled at and dressed-down. And I got told, "if this deal falls apart, you'll be out of a job!" And the Adverticon people fumed and griped, and threatened to back out and take their offer to Cisco instead.

But they didn't. And my guys busted their asses for two days and two nights, and we found a gaping hole in Adverticon's security protocols. So we went back to the table and embarrassed the shit out of them, and then renegotiated.

In the end, Nexico still bought Adverticon—but not for seven more months, until they were able to show conclusively that they'd solved the problem. And for 18% less than the initially agreed-upon price.

That made me a Vice-President, with a substantial raise. And I got a $2 million bonus, which sounds unbelievable until you consider that it was only 0.4% of what Nexico saved on the deal.

Maybe the best part of the whole thing, after the money—which Laurie and I used to buy a gorgeous house in the Pacific Palisades with a sensational view of the ocean—was that now, everyone looked at me as Nexico's resident genius. Any suggestion I made got listened to, any hunch got people's attention. If I ever needed some time away, or wanted to drive somewhere to inspect something or talk to someone, it was "sure, Glen—whatever you need."

So at 3:17 pm on March 8, when I bounded out of my office and headed for the parking lot, calling out to my Administrative Assistant that I'd be out the rest of the afternoon, she never batted an eyelash, just replied that she'd reschedule my appointments. She and my other assistants probably just figured, "Glen has had another one of his hunches."

And I did. I had a sudden hunch that my best friend Tom Betancourt might be fucking my wife.

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

Tom and I grew up together, in a suburb of San Diego. We were inseparable from about second grade until we went off to different colleges, and we stayed in touch afterwards, even when his work in commercial real estate took him far from the West Coast.

When Laurie and I got married Tom was my best man, even though she'd never met him until the night of our rehearsal dinner. He liked her, of course, as I knew he would. What's not to like? Laurie is gorgeous and funny, incredibly smart, thoughtful and loving ... it's easy to run out of words. As we waited together before the ceremony Tom said, "man, you have hit the jackpot—Laurie is really something. I almost envy you."

I laughed and said, "the key word there is 'almost', right?" Because Tom is a no-commitment, keep it light and breezy kind of guy. He loves women—as many as possible—and they love him, but to say the least he's not the marrying kind.

That night in our hotel room, Laurie and I talked about him. We were snuggled together in bed, both of us rather drunk. We hadn't felt the need to consummate our marriage, since we'd been living together for months and had a lot of sex on a regular basis. So instead we'd been talking about the wedding, the food, the guests, about leaving the next day for our honeymoon trip to Maui.

"What did you think of my friend Tom?" I asked her.

And her first words were a gush. "Oh my God he's GORGEOUS!" she said, and then giggled and looked up at my face, blushing a little.

"I mean, you're the handsomest man in my world, baby." She kissed me. "But Tom is—well, if I weren't in love with you ..." And she stopped talking and kissed me again, maybe suddenly concerned about digging herself in too deep.

But I just laughed—I knew how much Laurie loved me. Holding her close and warm in my arms, I said, "I know what you mean, babe. He's tall and broad-shouldered, and he has that charming manner and that crooked smile...

"He's always been like that. A pussy magnet, basically. And I'm betting that right now he's in bed with one of the bridesmaids, or someone else he met at the reception—it's usually like that with him."

Laurie laughed and said, "I'm guessing Emily or Kate. Did you see how they were staring at him all through dinner, and when he gave the toast? It wouldn't have taken much effort on his part."

And that was that. We drifted off to sleep, and the next day we flew off on our honeymoon, and then we came back and lived happily ever after. For three years and nine months, more or less. Until March 8.

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

Tom had come to stay with us for a few days, maybe a week. He was working on a big deal in LA, and while he certainly could have afforded the Beverly Wilshire or the Viceroy L'Ermitage, it would be a chance for us to catch up—we hadn't seen each other since the wedding.

So he flew in on a Friday night, and we went to a Lakers game and played golf over the weekend, and on Monday he went downtown to do his deal and I headed to work. He had meetings planned until 4:00, and I promised to be home by about 6:30 and we'd have dinner on the back deck and look at the Pacific.

All fine, right? Great to be with my oldest friend, and to share some good times with him and Laurie. Except that on Monday, at around 3 in the afternoon, the alarm bell went off. You can't always explain it—you just know. The way they moved around one another, the occasional glances. A few moments of unease between Laurie and me, last night before bed and again this morning.

Was he going to fuck her? I wasn't sure. MIGHT it be happening? Damn right. And so at 3:17 I was headed for the parking lot.

LA traffic being what it always is, I didn't get home until nearly 5:00, more than half an hour after I expected Tom to be back. I parked around the corner and walked quietly up the long drive—obviously hoping that my intuition was failing me for once.

But it wasn't.

Nobody was on the back deck or in the living room or kitchen, but I found them easily enough when I came silently up the carpeted stairs and down the hallway. The door to the master bathroom was wide open, and they were both naked. Tom was standing, leaning back against the wall, and Laurie was kneeling on the bathmat in front of him, sucking his cock.

[The scene I'm describing here is from a photo I saw on the Internet. Here's what the caption says:

"She told him that her husband trusted her, and she loved him and didn't want to betray that trust. He told her he understood, and he would respect her boundaries and give her some space. He was in a surprisingly understanding mood.

But, a few hours later, he decided he wanted to have his dick sucked, and that was the end of that."]

I was about 12 feet away—neither of them could see me. For some reason I didn't rush in, screaming or punching. I stood still and I watched. My wife has the most beautiful ass I've ever seen, and I admired it as she lovingly bobbed on his dick, clearly enjoying what she was doing. She had her hands on his thighs, and Tom's hand pressed gently on the back of her head, encouraging her. I stood still; and Laurie sucked him, and Tom groaned, and finally he grunted and thrust into her mouth a few times and came, and she swallowed, and she held his cock for a minute or two longer as it softened.

I was horrified, furious, absolutely frozen with rage—and I also had the hardest erection of my life pushing out the front of my pants. Laurie was so sexy, and it was so easy to imagine the pleasure Tom was feeling. I didn't move.

Finally Laurie let Tom's cock slip from her mouth, and he pulled her gently to her feet. And into his arms: he kissed her, and she opened her mouth and gave herself to him, moaning, while he held her with one arm and stroked her pussy with the other, fingering her, rubbing her clit, until in less than a minute she shuddered and came hard. She had obviously been really worked-up.

After that he held her a bit longer, and they kissed some more. And then she said, "you really are a son-of-a-bitch, you know that? I told you I would never cheat on Glen."

He kissed her again. "I could say I'm sorry, Laurie, but I'm not. Glen is my friend and I love him—but when I saw you on the deck yesterday in that bikini it was all I could do not to throw you down and fuck you right there."

"So instead you come home today, pull me into the shower with you, and then make me give you a blow-job? Is that any better?"

These words might have sounded like a complaint, but Laurie was still in Tom's arms, still smiling up at him, still stroking his chest with her hand.

"Well, it's a little better," he said. "We didn't actually fuck."

Finally she pulled away from him. When she picked up her clothes and started to move into the bedroom, I silently left the house and went back to my car.

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

I can't really explain what I did that night. Not what you might expect, that's for sure. I was disgusted and sick at heart—and ready to kill the two people I had loved and trusted most in the world. But I drove around for a while with a million thoughts in my head, and then I came home and played the host and the loving husband. Tom and Laurie both played it pretty cool, though it wasn't hard for me to see that she was a little tense. Tom was his usual self—what a fucking actor!

I barbecued and we had drinks and dinner on the deck, chatting about nothing, sharing a good bottle of wine and pretending that all was right with the world.

Except that I was torn between rage, despair, and lust. At about 10:15 I couldn't take it any more, and I said, "well that's about it for me. Tough day at work—I'm headed for bed. Why don't you come with me, babe?"

Laurie didn't have much choice, so we said goodnight to Tom and headed up to our bedroom. Where I made clear to her without much talking that I wanted to fuck, and plowed right through her clear signs of reluctance until she was on the bed on all fours and I was standing behind her, fucking her doggie-style.

I don't know if it was much fun for her but I didn't particularly care. She was quieter than usual, but that might have been because she didn't want Tom to hear us. I fucked her hard but I didn't last all that long—I was pretty pent-up. Afterwards we brushed our teeth and snuggled up together in the usual way. I had the feeling she maybe wanted to ask what had gotten into me, but was afraid to bring it up.

In a few minutes she had fallen asleep, while I lay beside her with my eyes still open. Staring at the dark ceiling and thinking about the next day.

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

In the morning the three-way charade continued. We had a cheerful breakfast, chatted about nothing in particular, made plans to go out for dinner that night. And then I kissed Laurie and went out the door.

I drove around the corner, parked, and came back to the house through the trees, finding a place right outside the kitchen window where I could hear and see them.

"Well, I've got to go make some money," he said. She had her back to him, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

Then he said, "it sounded like Glen fucked you pretty good last night."

She turned and looked at him, blushing. "I don't want to talk about that, Tom."

"Well, my meetings should be done by 4 again—and I'm going to fuck you even better later this afternoon."

"No, Tom, we can't—" But he walked over and pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard. She didn't exactly reciprocate, but she let him do it. And when he let her go she had a worried look on her face.

He patted her on the cheek, gave her a big smile, and said, "yes we can!" And he grabbed his briefcase and walked outside to his rental car.

I waited until ten minutes after he was gone. Then I called my office and told Amy I wouldn't be in that day, and I spent some time down on the beach in Malibu. I walked in the sand, and got a shrimp sandwich and a Coke for lunch, and walked some more.

And by 3:30 I was back home, with my car safely parked a couple blocks away, watching the driveway from behind a couple of trees. When Tom pulled up I quietly ran for my car and drove right back after him, so they didn't have more than three or four minutes alone.

I made a big production of it, coming through the door loudly: "Hey, surprise! I'm home early!" They were in the kitchen, but nowhere near each other. Tom looked the same as ever, but Laurie was maybe a little shaken, blushing a little. I pretended to ignore it.

We had a drink, made a dinner reservation, showered and changed, and went off and had some unusually good Asian fusion at this new, fashionable place—don't even try to tell me LA doesn't have the best restaurants in the US. And when Laurie and Tom were gazing at some TV star across the room I quietly dropped an Ambien into her wine.

By the time we got home she was three-quarters asleep. "Honey, I don't know what happened to me, but I just can't keep my eyes open." I smiled and helped her to the couch, and in ten minutes she was out cold.

I grinned at Tom. "Help me get her upstairs to bed, okay? And then we can have a nightcap on the deck."

We carried her up together, got her shoes off, laid her down on the bed and I covered her with the comforter, not bothering to take off her skirt and blouse. On the way downstairs I let Tom go ahead of me—and when we were four steps from the bottom I raised my leg and kicked him as hard as I could, square in the middle of his back.

Tom went flying, banged his head hard on the wall, and tumbled into the hallway on his back, his eyes a bit unfocused. I jumped down after him and put my foot firmly down on his neck.

"Can you hear me, you motherfucker?" I hissed at him. I watched his expression as it shifted from dazed, to annoyed, to a little sheepish, to alarmed. My foot was pressing on his windpipe, and in my right hand I was holding a large monkey wrench.

"Glen, I—" he started, and then stopped when he felt my foot pressing harder.

"There is not ONE FUCKING THING you can say to me that will make any difference.

"You have three minutes to throw your shit into your suitcase and drive the fuck away from here. And if I ever see you again you'd better have a gun, because I will fucking beat you to death."

I backed away and he pulled himself to his feet slowly, groaning a bit, watching me carefully. Then he turned and went into the guest room, emerging a couple of minutes later with his suitcase and briefcase.

My monkey wrench still in my hand, I held the front door open and watched him load his stuff into the car. Before he got into the driver's seat he said, "listen, Glen, I'm really—"

"Just go away." I waited until his car was out of sight, then I turned and went into the house.

I made myself a drink and sat alone on the deck for nearly an hour, sipping, watching the stars. I suppose I could say "thinking," except that I'm not sure I really thought about very much.

Then I went upstairs, got Laurie out of her clothes and tucked into bed, and climbed in next to her. Amazingly enough, I was out like a light within minutes.

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

I was sitting on the deck with my coffee when Laurie came out. She'd put on a pretty blue nightgown.

"Sorry, honey," she said, "I don't know what happened to me last night. We were having such a nice dinner, and I just ... I don't know, felt exhausted."

"It's fine, babe." I pulled her gently down on my lap and put my arm around her. "Tom and I carried you up to bed."

After a few minutes she went in to get herself some coffee and start breakfast. When I came in she said, "what do you want this morning, eggs maybe? And what do you think Tom would like?"

"Oh, he had to leave last night," I said. She looked at me, startled.

"He got a call from some higher-up and headed straight off to the airport. He was taking the red-eye to New York, I think. He said to tell you goodbye, and thanks for everything."

It was fun to watch her face. Clearly Laurie didn't know quite how to react. Finally she just said, "okay—at least we had a few days with him. Did you enjoy his visit?"

"Sure," I said. "Did you?"

She looked away. "I guess so. I mean, he's your friend, not mine.

"Actually," she went on, "I'm sort of glad he's gone. I like being just the two of us." And she came and gave me a hug and a kiss.

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

After breakfast I went up and showered. When I was done, and I'd toweled off, I yelled, "Laurie—can you come up here, babe?"

When she came into the bathroom I was standing, naked, exactly where Tom had been. She just looked at me, confused, and I said, "come here a minute."

I took her nightie by the hem and lifted it up and off her. And then I pushed her gently down to her knees on the bathmat.

"There," I said. "Now why don't you give me a blow job?"

She stared at me, and I looked back at her, and then her eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head and began to cry, big wracking sobs, her face in her hands.

And I just let her, watching, my cock dangling towards her. And when she finally started to calm down, she looked up at me, her face wet, and said, "oh honey, Glen, I'm so—"

"Shh," I said. "Don't talk." And I gently pulled her head towards my cock. She came forward hesitantly, tears still spilling from her eyes, and took me in her mouth.

And then she gave me the strangest blowjob I'd ever had. It was slow and loving, and she never stopped watching me, never stopped weeping, until she'd finally made me come in her mouth.

And when I pulled her up to me and held her, just the way Tom had, my arms around her, she started to sob again, shaking, and it was another ten minutes or so before she was quiet, before we were both quiet, standing there on the mat in the bathroom.

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

"I don't know," I said. "In fact, I have no fucking idea."

We were sitting on the deck, an hour later.

"I know that I love you. And I know that I want to stay with you. But I don't know if I'll be able to. If I'll be able to drive away to work in the morning, or go on a three-day business trip, without wondering who else has got their cock down your throat or up your cunt."

She looked at me red-eyed. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, for like the twentieth time.