The BBC

I laughed at that. It actually made me feel good that Eric thought that losing me was worth suing someone over.

"From what I've been told that type of lawsuit rarely yields any monetary rewards," I said.

"Your husband is an asshole," he said. "It's not about the money. He's only suing me for twenty-five dollars. But being served at my home means that my wife found out and now my marriage is in jeopardy. And every time the suit comes up it causes me problems.

When the case was listed in the newspapers and on social media it lists my name and mentions that I am the husband of a prominent Cardiac Surgeon and mentions my wife's name as well. This bullshit is damaging her reputation and costing her patients because no one wants to be operated on by a doctor with serious emotional entanglements.

My wife's lawyers are offering him all kinds of money to drop the suit and let this die but he won't even take a meeting with them. He seems to be in great pain and just wants to tear the world a new asshole to make himself feel better. He's acting like a man who has lost everything and just wants to hurt everyone else."

Suddenly I felt even worse. I didn't feel bad for him. He was a grown man and should have been able to accept the risks for what WE did. But I felt badly for his wife. She didn't deserve to have her career and reputation destroyed because her husband couldn't keep his dick in his yoga pants.

And their kids didn't deserve to have their home life shattered and her patients deserved a great doctor and from looking at my dad, she was a great doctor.

"I'm not promising you shit," I said. "But I'm gonna make a phone call."

"You're calling your husband?" he asked, the relief in his voice was obvious even over the phone.

"Nope," I said. "He doesn't take my calls. But I'm calling someone he does listen to."

A few moments later I dialed the number and it was answered. "What now, Mom," she said. "Daddy is taking me and my friends to Coldstone."

* * * * * *

Eric

I had to admit that for an older woman, she was beautiful. She had the creamy coffee colored skin that a lot of women from India have. Her deep drown eyes sang with intelligence and life but there was a touch of deep sadness there as well.

"French fries are not good for your heart," she said as a way of starting the conversation.

"I run a lot so I can afford them," I said.

"What's your 5K PR?" she asked.

"17:30," I said proudly.

"Ooh you're fast," she gushed. "Even in college I couldn't break twenty minutes with a rocket up my ass!"

It was odd hearing such a slang phrase delivered with the melodic Indian accented English. And her smile despite her pain and shitty situation we were in proved the kind of person she was. I liked her instantly.

And the fact that I really did like her made me feel small for what had happened and how I'd reacted to it. I should have thought my actions out far more carefully. I realized at that moment that I was punishing the victims along with the guilty. This woman was no more to blame for our spouses' actions than I was. But she was being victimized again by my vengeance.

"How can I help you doctor?" I asked, meaning it.

"By letting me help you," she said. "I know you're in pain. I am too."

"I'll drop the suit, the newspaper listings ... the social media campaign ... everything," I said.

"What's it going to cost me?" she smiled. "I've already offered your lawyers a half million dollars. I can't afford any more than that." We both knew that she could.

We also knew that after this all blew over she'd make a lot more money, but again SHE was not at fault.

"How's your divorce going?" I asked.

"We have six children," she smiled. "We also have an old-fashioned marriage. There will be no divorce. Why were you asking that?"

I smiled back at her. There was a very strong attraction between us and I was sure she felt it. Her next statement proved it.

"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking it would have to be very secretive," she said.

"If you're saying what I'm thinking, I'd want your husband to watch," I said. Her face smirked at first and then recoiled in horror.

"In some cultures that would be an insult to great for him to live with," she said.

"It would also make us no better than them," I said. "It's a shame thought that we're better people than we married."

"How much money does your husband have?" I asked. "I don't want a nickel from you but I want to hurt him."

"Perhaps one hundred fifty thousand dollars left from the dowry he got from my parents and a little over two years paid for on the lease of the yoga studio that is now out of business. He's thinking he can make a small profit by subleasing it. I've already told him that he is no longer allowed out of the house. He is now a stay at home husband. His job is to care for the children and our home."

"Then that's what I want," I said. "A hundred and fifty grand and the yoga studio."

"But I offered you more than three times that," she laughed. "You're not making sense."

"I only did this to hurt HIM," I said. "I never want to hurt YOU. This way I can take away a big assed chunk of his pride without costing you anything. But you have to promise me that you won't replace his money."

"Oh, I've been wanting to hurt him some myself," she said. "Except for the household money I won't give him a quarter."

That was how I came to own a defunct yoga studio. Since I have a great job and almost no debt the money was a windfall. I bought one thing that I had always wanted and put the rest into a college fund for Erica.

The one thing I bought for myself was a 2003 SVT Cobra convertible. I had always wanted a Terminator and with it in the garage there were only two cars left on my dream cars list. The only cars I lacked were a '67 fastback and a 2014 Shelby GT 500

I got the Termi for twenty-seven thousand dollars and banked the rest for my daughter's college. My in laws didn't understand the car thing, but they were happy that it made me happy. They loved the fact that I was planning for my daughter's future although I sensed a bit of sadness from my mother in law. I asked her about it later.

"It's just hard to deal with the fact that I'm only gonna have one grandchild," she said sadly. "Is there absolutely no chance of ...?"

I hugged her and shook my head. "She ... she never loved me," I said sadly. "If we hadn't had Erica, she wouldn't have married me. I was too boring for her."

"Eric, you need to talk to her," she said. "Her feelings for you changed over the years. She did love you towards the end. And she's miserable without you."

"I think she just got comfortable with me," I said. "I was just like a pair of old shoes. That isn't how I want to be loved. But she'll find someone else. And maybe you can still have more grandkids."

Over the next few weeks I concentrated on two things. I concentrated on work and on making the transition into our new life as easy as possible for Erica.

The news that she wasn't my biological child made no difference to me. I figured that fact was another thing that was due to Dana's sins and had nothing to do with Erica or ME.

Erica had been my baby the day she was born, since she was born while her mother and I were married, she was my child in the eyes of the law, and she would remain my little girl until the day that she turned eighteen and could make the choice herself.

The first week went smoothly. Erica and I did pretty much what she wanted. I took her to school slightly earlier so I could get to work on time. And we signed her up for a couple of afterschool activities so I could pick her up after work.

When we got home, we cooked dinner together then she did homework while I busied myself with my cars or a workout.

We ended the night by either talking or watching TV together. Neither of us brought up the elephant that was missing from the room. I think we both knew that it was still too soon and too painful.

The second week should have been Dana's turn but she hadn't found a place yet. I didn't mind having Erica again and the third week was mine anyway.

But before the fourth week came up Erica was bad mouthing her mother. I didn't think it was a healthy thing so I stepped in.

I went to visit her grandparents with an idea.

"Look Mrs." I began and her face looked hurt.

"Eric you've never called me anything except Nancy or Mom for the past ten years, what's changed?" she asked.

"I'm not your son in law anymore," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"Says who?" she asked. "What's your idea?"

"Erica is beginning to resent Dana's absence," I said. "I know she hasn't found a place yet ... And she doesn't want to have Erica here for some reason. So, I'd like her to use the house next week so she can have her turn."

She hugged me. "Honey that's a great idea," she said. "Where will you stay?"

"I'll get a room in one of those motels near work for a week," I said.

"Oh no," she said. "You can have the guest room upstairs. There's nothing but druggies and hookers in those motels."

So, I stayed with my in-laws for a week. On Saturday night, I took them out to eat as a gesture of appreciation.

On Sunday morning, I went to take the house back. I'd made arrangements for Erica to go to a carnival with friends. Her friend's mom would drive them there and then stay with them until I got there after a run and a shower. I would bring them back home with me for dinner and their various parents would pick them up from our house.

I was sure the girls would want to leave the carnival pretty early. They were only ten and eleven years old. They'd ride a bunch of rides, play some games and then they'd be bored and want to do something different.

I also knew that my daughter wanted to show off our pool.

So, I was shocked when I got home early that morning for my run. The house was a fucking mess. My ten-year-old daughter was trying to clean up.

She looked at me and shook her head. I pitched in and we had the house presentable. Erica's favorite outfit went into the wash then. Thank God for express clean small loads. I was just taking her clothes out of the dryer when Pam's mom called to tell me she was on the way.

"I missed you so much, Daddy," Erica said as she hugged me goodbye.

I went up to my room to change into my running gear. My room was a sight. There were balled up pieces of paper everywhere and Dana was curled up with a pillow on my bed. There was an open bottle of liquor on the bedside table.

As I opened the drawer, she stirred in her sleep. I quickly grabbed a pair of shorts and a top. I threw my running shoes under my shoulder and left the room.

I changed in the kitchen and drove to the park. Just as I got to the park my phone rang. It was her.

"Hello, Dana," I said.

"Erica is gone," she said.

I explained everything to her, trying to remain as calm and emotionless as I could.

"Oh ..." she said. "You're really good at this single parent thing. I have got to get it together."

"It's easy for me," I said. "She ..."

"She loves YOU MORE," she screamed. "I get it. I'm the bitch who tore her family apart. Did you ever think that it's easier for you because you got the fucking house?" For a moment neither of us said anything. Then I heard the sound of her sobs.

"None of that is what I was going to say," I told her. "I was going to say that it's easy for me because she's all I have. You have a big family Dana. I was an only child. My parents died before we met. I obsess over Erica because she's the only person I have to care about."

Her gasp of pain was audible over the phone line. "I'm sorry, Eric," she croaked. "I'm just not handling this very well. I could have had a place by now, but I don't want some shitty apartment or a rental house. I want MY fucking house that I picked and you paid for.

But that's not even right. When I first got here I walked around and looked at everything. Except for some of my personal things nothing had been moved but it seemed empty. The house doesn't mean shit without you in it. I want my house back. I want my family back. I want my husband back.

Do you know what I saw last week? I saw that little Indian weasel that caused all of this. He and his wife and all of their God damned kids were out together for a walk in the park.

He tried to hold his wife's hand and she moved away from him. But at least they're together to work on it. Their family ... Their marriage is still together. Why isn't mine? It's not fair.

"Dana, I don't have all of the answers," I said. "I have to go run now so I can be on time to pick Erica up at the carnival."

"Okay, Eric," she said. "Do you think that someday we could ... you know ... talk about ...?"

"Someday," I said. "But not for a while. It's still way too soon. I'm not strong enough to deal with those feelings right now. Bye Dana."

Everything I'd told her was true, but not the half of it. I was having my issues dealing with our situation as well. There was an anger in me that had never been there before.

I hated Dana for what she'd done to me. We'd been married for ten fucking years and it had all been q lie. I've heard the expression, "Nice guys finish last," bit she'd put a whole new spin on it.

The bitch had fooled me for years. She'd just looked me in the eye every day and lied to me. And I had absolutely no way of knowing how many times she'd cheated on me. I was so angry that I just couldn't control it.

And that anger wasn't just directed at Dana. With the exception of my daughter and my mother in law I simply didn't trust women.

Sure, I could be civil to them in working situations. I was even able to make small talk with Erica's teachers and the mothers of her friends, but I just didn't trust them as far as I could throw them.

I knew that my feelings weren't healthy. I saw a counselor and he told me that considering what I'd been through, my behavior was normal.

He had me read some internet divorce stories. I really liked the ones by Just Plain Bob and Barney R.

But in the real world there was no way I could get away with the type of revenge that Bob got. I'd go to jail and my daughter would suffer.

I needed a healthy outlet for my anger. Again, I went to some of the guys I knew who'd been through divorces.

They all told me that the anger would fade in time. I began to wonder how much time it would take and what some of the things they did to get over their anger were.

I decided that maybe a support group of some kind might be a good thing. So, I called a bunch of my divorced friends. And I got each of those guys to give me the details of why they got divorced. I also asked them for the name of another guy they knew who'd been divorced.

I narrowed the list down to only guys who'd been divorced because they were cheated on. I didn't wanted guys who were divorced because they cheated. Those bastards deserved what they got.

I also included a few guys who'd been cheated on or dumped before they actually got married. If they'd loved the woman they were with, they were just as miserable.

Once I had my list, I invited them all over to my house to talk.

I had the meeting catered by a bar nearby. We had plenty of bar food and craft beers. We also had a bring your own meat grill station.

I had fifteen guys show up. We had one large group session where we all told about our experiences and several small group sessions where we discussed problems particular to divorced guys.

I noticed one thing in particular about the guys I'd invited. There were a lot of really hot cars parked on my street. There were also trucks, bikes and vehicles that were combinations of bikes and cars.

I thought things had gone great and apparently, I wasn't the only one.

A big guy named Bill Peck who'd been betrayed by his high school sweetheart after twenty-three years of marriage asked the question a lot of the guys had been wondering about.

"Eric, I've enjoyed meeting you," he said. "It was awesome hanging out with a bunch of guys who understand what I'm going through. When's the next meeting?"

"I'll call you all and let you know," I said.

Over the next couple of days almost every guy who'd been there called me with ideas and plans.

Over the next few weeks we put together and organization that was part support group, part social club and part family.

Our third get together was a walk-through of my empty Yoga studio that I had proposed as our clubhouse.

We had several members who were contractors. They volunteered time and materials and we gutted the insides and outsides of the building.

The new decor was very guy-centric. There was a huge bar. There was a big screen TV on every wall and plenty of seating everywhere.

The back room featured a gym and several punching bags in different sizes. That way if a guy had a bad day he could just go there and beat the shit out of something. We had lockers and showers that were lead over from the yoga studio. I had the idea that I could go for runs from the club sometimes.

The funniest thing happened when the sign for the club was put into place. Some of the guys were pissed when the letters BBC were attached to the building.

"Hey," said one guy. "That's how I lost my wife."

"I've already got one of those," said one of the black guys in the club. "It didn't do me any fucking good."

"Remember when we were younger," I said. "They had the YMCA and they had the Boys club. Welcome to the Broken-Hearted Boys Club."

The club took off like a shot. We had to limit the membership to guys who'd really been hurt by divorces or relationships.

There were too many guys who took a look at all of the cars and motorcycles parked outside and wanted to join.

Even funnier though were women who saw the sign out front and got the wrong idea.

One of our members a huge black guy named Will was great at giving them the brush off.

"Are you ladies interested in the BBC?" he'd ask. They nodded and laughed. "Well come on out back so I can whip this out."

He escorted them to the rear of the building and out into the alley. He pulled out his phone and took pictures of all of them.

"The pictures are for my wall," he said smiling broadly.

Then he slammed the door and left them standing there. They started banging on the door so he opened it.

"What?" he yelled.

"We didn't get to see it!" said one woman angrily.

"You didn't whip it out," said another.

"We came for the BBC," said the last one. "And we ain't leaving here until we get it."

"Alright you asked for it," said Will. He pulled out his dick which really was sizeable and pissed all over the three women.

"I call that Big Willie Style," he smirked. "We'll put their photos on the wall. If they ever come back we'll let their husbands know why they were here."

The club took on a life of its own. We took trips. We did all kinds of activities. We had parties. And some of those parties got wild. We had strippers, we went to Vegas, we did all of the things you can imagine that guys did.

But we all pretty much hated women and our ex-wives in particular. Until one day ...

I had a Saturday off. Erica was with Dana and I was at the club. Actually, I was behind the club washing my car when she came up behind me and handed me one of my microfiber towels.

"Thanks," I said absent mindedly.

"You're welcome," she smiled. As soon as I heard her voice my head whipped around.

"Ah need a favuh," she said. I've never seen brown eyes that sparkled. I've heard about warm brown eyes and intense brown eyes. I've heard of brown eyes that were so dark they looked black. I've also heard of people who were so full of shit their eyes were brown ... but her eyes sparkled.