Tricia: Settling the Score

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Husband returns to the cabin with revenge on his mind.
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jack_straw
jack_straw
3,220 Followers

Author's note: I have always wanted to write a true revenge fantasy, where a man takes forceful action against a person that's wronged him. The civilized world, of course, frowns on such action, but there is an elemental part of everyone that often likes to see scores settled in such a decisive way.

I think I have found a vehicle for my little revenge fantasy in the form of the recently released story "Tricia," by the prolific Just Plain Bob.

If you are a regular reader, you probably have an opinion about JPB, as he is known. Personally, I find him to be a bit of a guilty pleasure. He is certainly a talented writer, and I generally find him to be entertaining, even if I sometimes agree with his many critics that he often writes stories about very unsympathetic characters who do extremely maddening things.

In "Tricia," Bob tells the story of a couple that builds a cabin in the mountains, next to a semi-retired black fellow that the husband and his two sons come to befriend, but whom the wife loathes.

One weekend, the husband – we'll call him Rob – takes his sons for a hike up into the high country overlooking the cabin. Rob stops to look down on the cabin, where his wife – Tricia – is sunbathing. While he's watching through binoculars, the neighbor, Archie, comes over and proceeds to rape Tricia right out in the open.

At some point, however, Tricia goes from victim to willing participant, then on ensuing days engages Archie in sexual trysts while Rob and the boys are away from the cabin. Rob is fully aware of what's going on, and as the story ends, he is headed back to the cabin for a confrontation with his wife.

Here is what I think should have happened next. Remember, this is a work of fiction, so don't go thinking that it's acceptable to really do the things that are done in this story.

------

I was lost in thought as I drove the familiar route to the mountain cabin that afternoon in late spring. It was Memorial Day weekend, school had just gotten out for the summer and we were getting away from the city.

It was our first trip back since that fateful weekend the previous October when the events occurred that I detailed in my earlier tale, and it was likely to be one of the last.

I had already called ahead to meet with a realtor about putting the cabin on the market for sale, and she had agreed to meet me the next morning to appraise the property.

I couldn't enjoy the place any more, not after what had happened on our previous visit. So much had changed since then, and none of it for the better.

I looked over at my older son, Charlie, sitting in the passenger seat next to me. He was staring out the window with the earphones from the MP3 player blasting out some industrial strength rock. He hadn't wanted to come, because he had somehow figured out that the breakup of his parents' marriage had started there that weekend at the cabin.

But I needed him to be there, both to help me around the cabin and as an alibi. He and his brother – who was still mostly unaware of what had happened the time before – were there to make sure I didn't do anything that could be seen as violent toward Archie, the neighbor who had started the whole thing.

He had raped Tricia, no question about it, but then he had somehow tapped into my ex-wife's latent slut, a side of her I never knew existed, and she had welcomed him into her lush body on two subsequent occasions.

I still remember every little detail of that Sunday afternoon, as I accompanied the boys back from our hike, where I had observed the cabin from a high overlook. I had watched Archie leaving after an hour inside, then saw Tricia standing in the doorway naked, sending him off with a wave.

I knew I was going to confront her with what I'd seen that weekend, but I wasn't sure how I was going to do it. I didn't want to cause a scene, especially with the boys around. They were quite close with their mother, and I didn't want them hearing about what a slut she'd been that weekend.

I finally decided that I would wait until we got home that evening to have the critical talk with Tricia, when we could be alone, in private.

I could see no reason to draw this thing out, and I wasn't one to beat around the bush. I'm a pretty direct person, and when I make a decision, it's done.

I just couldn't see myself living with – never mind sleeping with and having sex with – a woman who had so completely disrespected me the way Tricia had that weekend. Every chance she had that weekend, she let that black bastard come over and fuck her, and she had turned me away that first night.

In the space of three days, she had forced me to question the whole 17 years of our relationship, the two years of courtship and the 15 years of marriage. I had to wonder if that had been an isolated incident, or the manifestation of behavior she'd exhibited on other occasions, in other places.

And it really didn't matter. She'd cheated on me, more than once that weekend, and I couldn't abide that kind of behavior from my wife and the mother of my sons.

Tricia's hair was damp when we returned to the cabin, as if she'd stepped out of the shower not long before. The sheets had all been stripped from the beds and the dirty linens had been stuffed in a laundry bag in preparation for the return home.

I was tempted to fish around for the sheet that had covered our bed, to see if there were any telltale stains. But I didn't. I didn't have to, because I already knew what they'd been up to.

She gave me a greeting when I stepped in the cabin, but all I did was nod in her direction as I trudged back to the bedroom to change. I felt her gaze on me, but then her attention was diverted by the boys clamoring in the door.

"You guys hurry up and get your stuff packed away," I said. "I want to be out of here in an hour."

Tricia came in while I was changing from my jeans and hiking boots to my shorts and topsiders. I noticed she had on a turtleneck sweater and jeans, even though the temperature was unseasonably warm.

"How was the hike?" she said finally, when it became obvious that I wasn't going to initiate a conversation.

"It was OK," I said. "The boys had fun."

Her eyes kind of narrowed as she looked at me, but I just turned away and began to begin getting everything pulled together to go. I had no desire to linger, and I was pretty sharp with the boys about getting their stuff ready to go.

Once we were packed up, with the van loaded and the cabin locked up, we drove off, and as we passed Archie's place, he was sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair drinking a beer. I just stared at him as we passed. I was already working through ways that I could make him pay for what he'd done to Tricia.

It didn't take long for a solution to present itself.

The cabins were set up on a high ridge and the road that leads up to the ridge is fairly steep in some places, with a couple of tricky hairpin curves that require good brakes and a low rate of speed to negotiate safely.

Since we'd started coming up there, we'd heard some stories about locals who had met their deaths on those curves, and you could, in fact, see where the railing had been replaced in several places and was dented in others.

As we reached the valley and hit the main highway toward home, I had made a decision about Archie. I wasn't sure yet how it was going to happen, or when, but I knew that at some point in the foreseeable future, old Archie was going to meet with disaster on one of those curves.

With that decision made, I began to turn my attention to the more immediate problem of my marriage. I was working over my plans in my mind as we drove in silence, when I heard Tricia speak for the first time in awhile.

"Rob?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

"Sure," I said. "I'm fine."

"Well, you don't sound fine," she said when I refused to say anything more. "You haven't spoken 10 words to me since you got back from your hike, and you were pretty sharp with the boys back at the cabin. Are you upset about something?"

I just looked at her, and I think that was when she first began to understand that I knew what she'd been up to all weekend, because she clammed right up.

If she didn't figure it out then, I gave her a none-too-subtle hint a little while later, when she put her hand on my thigh – an affectionate gesture she'd used a thousand times before – and I pointedly moved her hand away. I didn't look over at her, but I thought I heard a soft gasp, and maybe a stifled cry.

I didn't care. It was time for her to start hurting, after what she'd put me though that weekend, and it was only going to get worse.

The fact is my heart was breaking. Tricia was the only woman I'd ever loved, and until two days before, I had been nothing but flushed with pride that she was my wife, my woman. Now? Now, she belonged to someone else, and I have to say it was crushing me.


I think that was why I had to do what I did. Archie had crushed my manhood in such a profound way that I had to have retribution from him. It drove me to madness the way it ate at me.

And Tricia had so easily forsaken her vows and had so willingly slipped into a slut mode that I had to rid myself of her, immediately. There was no chance that I could forgive what she'd done. None at all.

We stopped at Taco Bell for supper, and it was dark by the time we arrived home. Since the next day was a school day, we sent the boys on to get showered and get to bed. I left Tricia in our bedroom to unpack while I wandered out to my tool shed to unload the camping stuff and kill some time.

An hour or so passed before she came out to find me working on a bird feeder. Like I said, I was just killing time. I looked up at her, and she sort of avoided my gaze. I noticed she was still wearing her turtleneck sweater and jeans.

"So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or do I have to guess?" she said finally.

"I think you know," I said. "Patricia, I'm taking a personal day from work tomorrow to take care of some business, and I would suggest that you do the same."

"Why?" she said.

"Well, you have some packing to do, and you need to find yourself a place to stay," I said, looking right into her eyes. "I expect you to be packed up and moved out by the time I get home tomorrow, and you'd better take with you anything of yours you don't want me to throw out."

"Robbie, I..." she started.

"Save it for the judge in family court, Patricia," I said bitterly.

I think we were both sparring at that point, because she hates to be called Patricia, and I hate to be called Robbie. She just looked away and I could see her bottom lip quivering and tears on her cheek.

"I saw it all, Patricia, every bit of it," I said.

"Then you saw him attack me," she said forcefully.

"Yeah, and if you had told me what happened as soon as we got back that first day, I'd have forgiven you for the little episode at the picnic table," I said. "I was all set to pack up everything and take you to the sheriff to file charges against the son of a bitch. But you didn't say one word, and you hid the torn bikini. I decided to see how forthcoming you were going to be, then when you invited him over yesterday and today – well, as far as I'm concerned that blew our marriage out of the water."

"I didn't invite him over; he just showed up!" she cried. She was sobbing freely now, but strangely, the more she wept, the colder I got toward her.

"Yeah, and you welcomed him with open arms, or should I say open legs," I shot back.

"He made me!" she wailed.

"Bullshit!" I cried back. "You liked that big black cock fucking your horny little pussy. You liked cheating on me right under my nose. Well, now you don't have to hide it, or pretend you hate his guts. Fact is, you'll be free to fuck anyone you want, and you don't have to sneak around. That's not the first time, is it."

I was making a statement, not asking a question.

"No!" Tricia cried, and at that she buried her face in her hands and truly lost her composure. "I've (sob!) never (sob!) done (sniffle!) anything like that before."

"Then why did you do it this time?" I said, in a little softer tone of voice. I was running out of steam at this point. I was tired and emotionally wrung out.

"The first time, he forced me, and I tried to fight him off," she said in a small, weary voice after she tenuously regained her composure. "The second time, I tried to just lie there, like I had the first time, but something happened midway through it. He started to get me aroused. It shocked me, and I tried to push the feelings aside, but... Well, if you saw it all, you know. After that, it was like he had some kind of spell on me, like it wasn't real. It was like I was some other person when he was there."

"And I suppose he made you come in buckets," I said contemptuously.

"Y-y-yes," she said meekly. "He was like a machine. He'd come once, then 10 minutes later, he'd get hard again and he'd ... f-f-f..."

"Fuck you again," I finished her statement.

"I'm so sorry, Rob, I don't know what got into me," she said as the waterworks started up again.

"Well, I do," I said with an air of dismissal. "About 8 inches of black dick."

That started another round of weeping from Tricia. I just let her cry while I picked up the paintbrush I'd been using and resumed working on the bird feeder. Finally, I heard her sniffle loudly, which was a signal that she'd managed to get herself under control again.

"What are you going to do?" she said. "Is there no way to work through this? It was just one time."

"You're sure of that, right?" I said. "You're certain that if I start digging around in the past that I won't find some other instance where you 'didn't know what got into you?' Because right now, I'm having a hard time believing anything you say."

She gasped at that. Until that moment, I don't think she really understood the depths of my feelings, didn't see how deeply she'd betrayed me.

"You're just going to throw away 15 years of a good marriage because of one incident?" she said, and there was a touch of amazement in her tone.

"I'm not throwing away anything," I said, irritably. "You did that Saturday, when you let your lover fuck you while the boys and I were off running errands, and today, when you let him fuck you while we were hiking. You're the one who threw away our marriage. I'm just applying the coup de grace. To answer your question, I'm going to see a lawyer tomorrow and I'm filing for divorce. I'll be generous with you in any settlement, but one thing I will not be generous about is custody of the boys. They stay with me."

"You can't do that!" she cried, and that set off another round of weeping. "I-I'm their mother."

"And how much did you think about your sons when you were flat on your back with Archie's cock plowing in your slutty hole," I said venomously. "Or maybe I should say holes. How am I to know he didn't fuck your ass, as well as your sloppy pussy?

I stared at Tricia, and the shocked look on her face told me I'd scored a bulls-eye.

Anal sex was something she only did for me under very specific circumstances, like when she was ridiculously horny, or perhaps a little drunk. But it now appeared that she'd given it to Archie without either of those conditions in play. It just reinforced my resolve to go through with the divorce.

"Go on, Patricia, go on and leave me alone," I said finally. "I'm tired of this, and I'm tired of looking at you. I've loved you like nothing else for 17 years, and you managed to kill that love in the space of three days by being a slut. I hope it was worth it."

With that, she buried her face in her hands and dashed back to the house sobbing uncontrollably.

And, in truth, I was glad she'd sped off when she did, because I didn't want her to see me lose control. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've cried since I reached adolescence, but I was close to it right then.

"Why, God? Why?" I cried out finally. And in my pain, I focused on what I saw as the personification of Tricia's betrayal, which was actually a betrayal in and of itself. I had befriended Archie, allowed him into my family, and this was how he repaid that friendship?

Thinking about Archie, and what I wanted to do to him, had the effect of damming up my tears and hardening my heart. I made up my mind then that I was not going to shed any tears over what was going to happen.

I shut down the tool shed, and retreated to the house. The door to our bedroom was closed, and I had no interest in going in, but I did put my ear to the door and I could hear Tricia's muffled sobs. I had turned to go back downstairs when I heard the door to one of the boys' rooms open.

"Dad?" It was Ryan, our younger son. "What's the matter with Mom? She came up here crying and all. Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"You might say that," I said. "Look, you need to go on to bed. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

I gave him a hug and watched as he shut the door. In the months to come, he would be the one with the most equilibrium in the house, the one who kept the place from falling apart.

Charlie was too much his mother's son, and he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, plus he was at that incredibly awkward age: 13 going on 14. The divorce would prove hard on him, and it wouldn't be easy on me. I would discover that I had depended on Tricia for all sorts of little things that I now had to learn how to do on my own.

But at that moment, those things were all in the future. That Sunday night, I pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, went to the den to watch the Sunday night football game and, three beers later, I fell asleep in the recliner.

It was still dark when I awoke with a sore back, and realized that someone, probably Tricia, had covered me with a blanket. I smelled coffee, so I got up and walked painfully to the kitchen, where Tricia was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her.

She looked horrible. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she had dark circles around them, evidence that she'd slept not a wink. She was dressed in her usual housewear – a pair of baggy shorts and a T-shirt.

I noticed that there were three marks on her neck. They looked like small hickeys or maybe bite marks, but whatever they were they sent my blood pressure soaring. The motherfucker had marked her. He'd put his brand on my wife and claimed her for his.

I stood in front of the coffeemaker trying to get my emotions under control, but it took a huge effort. Fortunately, Tricia made it easy by the attitude she exhibited.

"Rob, I truly am sorry for what happened," she said softly. "Believe me, I do still love you. What happened out there had nothing to do with my feelings for you."

"Perhaps not," I said, sitting down at the table with my cup of coffee. "But it happened anyway, and regardless of what we may feel for each other, I can't live with what you did. As much as I love you – and I still do – our marriage is over. It ended on Saturday, when you let him come in and willingly fuck you behind my back. You both betrayed me, and I can't forgive that."

"I know," Tricia said. "You're right. You're always right. I wouldn't be able to forgive you if the roles were reversed, so why should I expect you to forgive me? Rob, you asked me last night why I let Archie do what he did to me, and I said I didn't know and I told you I'd never done anything like that before. That's not quite true. Something like it did happen to me, back in high school. I don't think I ever told you the story about how I lost my virginity, and there's a reason why. I had a lot of time to think last night while I was packing, and it came to me clear as a bell. What happened to me this weekend was almost exactly what happened when I lost my virginity. Same type of situation, same results."

jack_straw
jack_straw
3,220 Followers