UnVailed

First and foremost I want to thank PapaGus for his editing on this and sage advice. Speaking of advice, I want to give a special thanks to Jounar for giving me a sounding board early on in this one. This one is not loaded with sex so if you are looking for fap material, this likely won't do it. If you are looking for a good story, I hope this suits you and I thank you for reading it and for providing feedback.

UnVailed

The phone rang and startled me out of my World War 2 reverie. My wife of ten years was away for two weeks at her annual convention. Joy hates all things war, while I am a huge WW2 buff. I own every war movie ever made so to make life easier I only watch them when she is gone.

I usually get my fixes when she has a girls' night out or a Saturday shopping spree with her friend Amanda, but twice a year she leaves for an extended period of time. In August she has to go to Indianapolis for two weeks to attend corporate meetings and training sessions.

In February she goes to the company convention for two weeks. This year's convention was in Houston. The convention is special because only the top ten earners in each state get to attend and Joy has gone for the last three years.

Last year she called me on Sunday and told me pack a bag and meet her in Miami. It turned out that she had won a drawing and the prize was a week for two in Miami. Needless to say I wasn't too disappointed to spend a week of the cold Colorado winter in Sunny Florida.

Every other time she's gone I binge on war movies. So far that Saturday I had watched "The Dirty Dozen," "Enemy at the Gates," and "Saving Private Ryan." I had bought sandwich meat and hoagie rolls and a five gallon bucket of cheese balls. I had just made a sandwich and had started in on my "Band of Brothers" box set.

Just as the boys of Easy Company were losing their spaghetti lunch after running up Currahee the phone rang. Part of my mind was cursing this intrusion on my binge; the other part was hoping it was Joy calling to tell me she'd won some trip to a warm place. Hell at that point I would have settled for a week in Houston where it wasn't 12 below zero at night and in the 30's during the day.

The caller ID claimed the call was coming from an unknown caller. I immediately figured it was my long time buddy Paul. The bastard knew I was knee deep in war this weekend and didn't plan on going anywhere.

"What do you want fucker?"

To my surprise the voice on the phone was a woman. "Um, I am trying to reach Roger Rigby."

The person using my given name caught me off guard. Most people call me Zeke. "This is Roger. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Rigby, this is Detective Desirae Phillips of the Vail PD and I am calling because your wife has been in an incident and is in Eagle Valley Medical Center. She's in pretty bad shape and you should probably come here as soon as you can."

"I think you are mistaken ma'am. My wife is in Houston for two weeks at her company's convention."

"Are you sure about that Mr. Rigby? When did you last talk to your wife?"

"She called me last evening after her meetings. She was getting ready to go to dinner with her colleagues."

The woman on the phone read me off the address listed on Joy's drivers' license. It was our address alright, but how could Joy's drivers' license be in Vail when Joy spoke to me from Houston? "Whomever you have in your hospital most likely stole my wife's purse at the airport. Can I file charges?"

"Yes you can. I'll run the victim's prints to find out who she is. In the meantime I'll need you to come up here to verify your wife's belongings and sign a complaint. But you do need to hurry and get here in case this is your wife sir. She needs care consents signed."

"I'll be there in a couple hours," I said. I really didn't want to go on a wild goose chase but I wanted to prosecute this woman if she'd used Joy's credit cards.

I threw a few clothes in my duffel just in case I wouldn't be back by morning and hit the snow packed highway. During the almost two hour drive to Vail, I played many questions and answers through my head.

So there were two possibilities. The first was that someone stole or found Joy's wallet and decided to go skiing. "Why would someone go skiing with stolen shit in their possession," my devil's advocate asked.

Criminals aren't the smartest fuckers so why wouldn't one take a pilfered wallet skiing? "Do pilferers ski?" How the fuck should I know?

"So that leads us to possibility number two. It IS Joy and she IS in Vail. Why is she skiing in Vail when she's supposed to be at her convention in Houston?"

She might have won a trip and decided to get in a few runs before she called me. She did beat me to Miami by a day. "What if she didn't want you in Vail?"

Why wouldn't she? Besides she's not in Vail she's in Houston. "How do you know?"

I talked to her last night. "Did you hear proof she was in Houston?"

Proof? "You know a dozen assholes sayin' y'all or a bunch of oil talk."

That's just stupid. "Did she call you from her cell or the hotel phone?"

She always calls from her cell. Why pay extra for a phone call? Besides, I dropped her off at the airport. "Did you see her get a boarding pass?"

No, I dropped her off and went to work. "Did you see her get on a plane? How do you really know she's in Houston?"

Well where the fuck else would she go? "Vail, obviously."

Come on. Who gets on a plane at the Colorado Springs Airport to fly to Houston Texas and then ends up in Vail Colorado? Vail is not in between Houston and Springs. "No shit Sherlock? Obviously someone flew her from Houston to Denver and drove her to Vail, or she never got on a plane in Springs and left directly for Vail."

It has to be an imposter. "....An imposter, Scooby? Are we solving mysteries here?"

Fuck you! You know what I mean. Someone else stole her shit and got fucked up on Vail Mountain. "Why didn't Joy tell you she lost her shit?"

She doesn't know yet? She's embarrassed? I'm sure she has a good reason for not telling me. "Now who's being stupid?"

I'm stupid because I don't think my wife is getting some on the side? "No, that's being naïve. Stupid is trying to rationalize your naiveté against a voice in your head."

What evidence do I have that she's fucking around? "Other than she's in Vail when she's supposed to be in Houston?"

Yeah. Has she suddenly started dieting or working out? "No. She's always been in good shape."

Has she bought a bunch of new sexy clothes? "No. She still dresses like she always has."

Has she changed her hairstyle or her make-up? "No, she still looks like everyone in the 90's did. Dude you seriously need to bring her into this century."

She's not getting funny phone calls, she not acting sneaky and she hasn't denied me sex once. She doesn't have mood swings or any of the other telltale signs of cheating whorism. "Making up words doesn't prove your point, but you are correct. Being in Vail IS the only fishy thing."

So you admit she isn't fucking around? "I admit we don't know what the fuck is going on.....Yet. But yes Virginia there are cheating whores out there."

As I began descending the pass and looking for the exit that lead to Vail I asked myself one last question: "What if it is her and she is fucking around?"

Simple. I'll jettison the cunt. I have no room in my life for an unfaithful piece of shit that can't keep her legs closed.

"That's kind of rash isn't it? You have been married to her for ten years." True, but Elton Rigby didn't raise any pussies.

"He sure knew how to handle a cheating cunt." Yeah right.

My mom had been acting weird for a while. I was only ten at the time, but I knew she wasn't right. She spent a lot of evenings out with her friends, and my dad always seemed agitated. One afternoon when they thought I was at a friend's house she confessed to him that she'd been sleeping with her boss.

Dad threw her out of the house and she moved in with my grandma for a while. We kids got to see her every weekend, but dad insisted that we weren't going to be exposed to her lifestyle.

After several months they patched things up and mom moved back in, but it was never the same. Dad worried himself sick every time she would be more than a few minutes late from work. He finally made her quit her job and find something else.

If she went out for an evening with her friends, she had to check in or dad would call whichever bar they were at and ask if she was there. I swore to myself I would never live that way. Mom and dad stayed together until I graduated high school and then they divorced. Neither of them could live that way.

Dad had been a top notch detective until he found out about mom's affair. "What kind of cop can I be if she pulled that shit under my nose?" he asked me one night in a drunken stupor. It didn't take long for it to affect his job performance. He received an early pension after he had a nervous breakdown.

I rarely speak to my mother these days. In many ways I am sure it's because of her that my dad died. My mother had killed him inside, and it just took a while for him to succumb. Sure the doctors used big words, like leukemia, but that cheating whore might as well have given him aids.

I won't end up like my dad, letting a whore sap the life out of me. "Just don't end up like your fucking brother."

Five years ago my brother Daniel walked in on his wife and her lover mid fuck. He didn't even have the courtesy to let them finish before he splashed their brains all over the wall with a 12 gauge slug. I go see him in Canon City a few times a year; if he behaves he might be out in another decade.

"So you don't want to be like your dad, nor do you wish to end up like your brother. Is there a middle ground?" Of course there is. But if she's a whore I want to do as much to her as I can and still remain on this side of the joint.

"Does anyone call it 'the joint' anymore?" Fuck, I don't know. Since when did you become the euphemism police?

"So are you going to be like one of them guys in the cheating wife stories on line that leave the cheating whore penniless and destitute, then ride off into the millionaire sunset with some brick shithouse babe who's secretly lusted for your ass all these years?" I'm sure there are a million of those waiting. No, if this turns bad I'll just have a life of continuous fuck buddies and friends with beneficial vaginas. "Smart man!"

The closer I got to the Vail exits the more nervous I got. Even my devil's advocate voice seemed to disappear. I almost pulled over to vomit before I got off of I-70.

The hospital wasn't all that hard to find. I had been to Vail a few times previously and had a general idea of where things were. I parked and made my way through the snow and sub-zero air to the main entrance to the hospital.

I hadn't had anything stronger than beer to drink since I had been married, but suddenly I really wanted a bottle of Jack Daniel's. I approached the information desk and identified myself and told the guy why I was there. He gave me a room number and I headed for the elevator.

When I reached the floor, I discovered that the room he'd given me was in the locked ICU section. I went to the nurses' station and told who I was there to see. She called someone and then told me to go to the door and wait to be buzzed in.

Once inside the secure area, I was met by a short blonde nurse. Her ample bosom was battling a set of buttons that were doing a heroic job of keeping her paisley top closed. "Your wife is being kept sedated," she said. "If it IS my wife," I thought. "You must prepare yourself. She's been horrifically injured and might not look herself. She can't hear you, but I want to be sure you can handle what you're about to see."

"I won't be surprised if I can't recognize her," I thought. But my voice did crack when I said "Take me in."

I wasn't at all prepared for what lay in that bed. I could see the swell of breasts, making the form a female. It was tall enough and built right enough to be my wife, but looking at the face I just couldn't tell. "Wow! Did she ski into every fucking tree on the mountain?"

"Oh no," replied the busty nurse. "She wasn't in a skiing accident. Someone beat her and left her in the ER this morning."

"Beat her? Left her? Faithful wives don't get their ass kicked and dumped at ER's."

I had to agree with my inner self, but I still didn't know enough to react. "I can't tell you one way or the other if this is my wife," I told her.

"Maybe this will help," she said as she lifted the blanket up to expose the woman's left thigh. Right there was all the proof I needed that it was her. I hadn't met too many women running around with Jiminy Cricket tattooed on their inner thigh.

I never fully understood why she got it, but she'd had it since just before we got married. It had been a last minute thing before her bachelorette party and she had never explained the significance, except to say that she'd always loved Jiminy, and it kind of symbolized her parents; Jim n' Yvonne. I never fully bought that answer, but it was the only one she was selling.

I had a hard time looking at her. The only time I had ever seen my wife in pain was also the first time I ever met her. My buddies and I had all gone to see Tool. We had a case of beer in the back of the van for an after show party.

After the concert we were having a grand old time when this girl came over and said her boyfriend wanted a beer. My buddy Chad told her she was welcome to stay and down a few with us, but we had no interest of providing for her guy. She begged one last time but Chad sent her packing.

A few minutes later I heard a scream in the direction that the girl had gone. I could see a few people pointing at something. When I looked closer I saw some guy kicking the shit out of a girl.

I have never had any use for guys who thought it was OK to beat a woman, so I jumped into action. I got over there in a flash and recognized the girl on the ground as the one who had asked for beer. The guy beating on her was about five foot nothing, and a hundred pounds if he was lucky. He definitely had a case of "little man syndrome."

"Where's my damn beer you fucking little bitch?" he screamed as he punched her. She had her arms up over her head trying to deflect his blows. "Answer me God damn you!"

By this point I had reached him. "Why isn't anyone helping this girl?" I asked myself. I grabbed his collar and pulled him off of her. "Leave her the fuck alone boy," I said. "We didn't give her a beer for you, because you're a fuckin freeloader."

"You best keep your nose out of my business before you get hurt."

I laughed at the idea of this puny runt raising a welt on me. He seemed to get more pissed off and started kicking the girl in the head. I grabbed him by his head and socked him in the mouth three quick times. I heard a crack on the second punch and after the third he dropped like a sack of manure.

I reached down and helped the girl up and started walking over to the van where Chad was already preparing an ice pack.

"He's not going to be happy you did that."

I looked to see a greasy haired bum looking motherfucker. "What's the little pussy gonna do? I tell ya what he's gonna do, he's gonna crawl back into whatever hole you fags crawled out of and hope he never sees me again."

I took her back to the van and we gave her ice. I saw the security team reach the downed loser. His buddies just seemed to stand around with their hands in their pockets as the cops picked the little guy up and tossed him into the squad car with the three other inebriated specimens they'd collected. I made a move to go over and tell them what he'd done when the girl grabbed my arm.

"Please don't. You've done enough for me tonight. No one has ever stood up to Garrett, let alone hit him. He'll probably go back to Wyoming now."

The girl had a very pretty face. Even with the Marilyn Manson contacts she was highly attractive. I had to ask myself once again why the best looking girls always seemed to go after complete douche bags.

We took her home after we were all partied out. She was going to have a shiner, but she seemed to be fine. After we dropped her off Chad tells me. "Dude, I think she wants you."

"Fuck dude. Why the hell would she want me? She was just grateful that I stopped that wasteoid from beating on her."

"I don't know why she'd want you, but she slipped me this for you."

He handed me a flap from one of the beer cartons. It was too dark to try to read it so I just tucked it into my back pocket to read when I had light. I wasn't about to have Chad stop under a street lamp or something, I'd never hear the end of it.

When I got to my apartment that night I looked at the carton flap. There was a phone number and the words "Call me Joy." My smartass voice immediately said "OK, I'll call you Joy." I then went to bed.

Two days later I called her. I didn't expect her to remember me, but when I told her who I was, she said, "I was starting to think you were never going to call me."

We ended up talking for an hour before she had to go do something. I enjoyed talking to her, and was pleasantly surprised when she called me that evening and we talked until midnight. That Friday night we went on our first date.

I took her to a nice little Italian place in the foothills, and then we went to a bar that featured live music. We drank and we danced and when the bar closed, I took her back to her place.

"Aren't you going to try to bed me," she asked.

"There'll be plenty of time for that later on. I'm not into first date sex. It'll more exciting to wait a few dates I think." With that I gave her a peck on the cheek and headed home. All in all it would be three weeks before I saw her again.

I didn't want to admit that every time I slept with a girl on the first date, things always soured within a month or two. I had grown paranoid I guess.

We talked on the phone almost every chance we'd get, but matching up free time seemed to be damned near impossible. If I was off, she'd be working. The one weekend we did have off, her Aunt Mary passed away and she flew to Florida with her family for the funeral.

Finally the weekend after her aunt's funeral we were able to go to a movie. I went to pick her up and was met at the door by her father. I wasn't sure what to expect when he asked me to come in. "Pleased to meet you Roger, I'm Jim."

He asked me what I did for a living, and asked if I had lived in The Springs all my life. Then he laid it on me. "Look son. You seem to be much better for Joy than that little loser was. Too bad he would never come and meet me," he said while wringing his hands together.

"He met me," I said with a grin. "I'm hoping he's smart enough to stay gone, but I doubt he's very smart."

"No he isn't. As a matter of fact I.." He trailed off as Joy came into the room. She smiled big when she saw me and gave me a hug. She wore a sexy dress that displayed her body in a perfect way. It enhanced every nuance of her body and made her a walking wet dream. I was suddenly rethinking my three dates before sex rule.

We actually ended up having sex on our next date after all. The night I met her father, she needed to be at work early the next morning and begged off any later activities, but with the caveat that I owed her.

We went to dinner that following Friday. I never picked up on any of the signals that I had picked up during our previous dates. I thought maybe she wasn't interested that night.