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Message-ID: <32509asstr$1000411802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Michael Riordan <phxlaw@mindspring.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} You Have Mail
Date: Thu, 13 Sep 2001 16:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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TUESDAY 9:47 a.m.

DING

The sound emanates from my computer.

It is a signal that an e-mail message has arrived.
It was easy to set up.  I used my e-mail program to
set up a filter.  I ve set up a number of filters.
When I get a message from my boss, Tom Hanks says,
"Houston, we ve got a problem."  When I get a
message from my best friend, the five notes from
Close Encounters plays.  But it "dings" when I get
a message from Jim.

TUESDAY 9:48 a.m.

DING

Another message from Jim has arrived.

To me, the sound seems to reverberate off the walls
of the office.  In reality, the sound is so
innocuous, no one ever notices it.

TUESDAY 9:49 a.m.

DING

It is a signal.
It is an announcement.
It is a SUMMONS.

I wait.  
I can t concentrate waiting to see if a fourth or
fifth message will arrive.

Nothing.

Just the three messages.

Once I went 3 weeks without a message.  One day I
got 26.

TUESDAY 10:00 a.m.

Still nothing.

I stare at the three messages sitting in my inbox.

I am drawn to them.
I am repulsed     by them.

TUESDAY 10:02 a.m.

"Houston, we ve got a problem."

I m saved from myself.  I will wait until my lunch
hour to view the messages.

Am I exhibiting self-control or self-pity?  I used
to care.

TUESDAY 12:21 p.m.

I swallow the last bite of my ham sandwich.  I ve
checked my stocks.  I ve checked the weather.  I ve
done the online crossword puzzle.

I stare at the three messages sitting in the inbox.
They call to me.  They mock me.

I look around the cube farm.  No one heading my
way.  No one milling around.

I open the first message.

"Message" is a misnomer.  There is no "message" and
there is no subject.  There never is.  There is no
signature block.  But it is from Jim.  There is
only a JPEG file.  Just one.  Jim has AOL for his
ISP.  What else can I say?

The picture is of a woman.  Not much more can be
seen in the photo.  She is on a flat surface.  A
bed, the floor, a desk.  Her head is cradled by her
left arm.  Her arm hides her face, but her wedding
ring lies in the foreground; in perfec    t focus.

I open the second message.  She is on a desk.  Her
head is down so you cannot see her face, but I know
the face well because she is in all of the
pictures.  

She is resting on her elbows.  Her hands are
clenched into fists.  It thrusts her wedding ring
forward toward the camera.  Eight months ago I
would have told myself that her fists were the
result of fear or anger.  I ve come a long way in 8
months.

On her left is an out of focus pen set.  Her right
breast is visible - the nipple ring hanging from
the erect nipple.

The last picture shows she has risen to support
herself on her hands.  A large black hand cups the
right breast, the fingers twisting the nipple ring.
Her head is thrown back, making her face visible.
Her expression is a grimace, but not of pain.  I ve
seen the look so many times.  Even with the
limitations of a two-dimensional image, I know the
camera caught her as she ground her hips through
the final tremors of her orgasm.

I do not cry.  I don t feel like I ve been kicked
i    n the stomach.  I would like to say that I no
longer feel anything, but I know that s not true.
I save the pictures to a zip disk.  I delete the
messages.  I run the security program to wipe the
hard drive of the info that once was the pictures.
I wait for my erection to pass.

TUESDAY 6:02 p.m.

I sit at my table in my house eating my dinner.  I
raise the spoon to my lips and blow across the
surface of the hot soup.  I look with pride upon my
son and my daughter.  As I take another spoonful of
soup, I look across the table at Julie, my wife.
She is radiant.  Her short brown hair encircling
her beautiful face.  Her full lips slide around her
spoon as she eats.  Her simple cotton dress does
not accentuate her supple figure.  The high bodice
hides her pretty breasts.  At 40 she can still turn
heads.

I think of the pictures from Jim and my prick
hardens.  I do not mention the pictures to Julie.

WEDNESDAY 1:36 p.m.

DING

She is naked except for her high heels.  She is
facing the camera, looking directly in    to it.  It
is as if I am looking directly into her eyes, into
her soul.  Her expression is smug; aloof.  It gives
the deception that she is in control.

She is sitting.  She is sitting on a guy s lap, his
prick buried in her cunt.  Her legs are spread wide
- obscenely wide.  His suit pants and underwear are
bunched at his ankles.  His coat is still on, the
cuffs visible at his hands.  His index fingers are
through the nipple rings, pulling them out from her
body and distorting the shape of her breasts.

I cannot see his face.  Is he old?  Is he young?
Is he an executive at her company?  Is he a
customer?  Is he a total stranger?

WEDNESDAY 1:40 p.m.

DING

She is still naked.  She is sitting in a chair,
facing the camera with her legs spread wide.  Her
cunt lips are spread wide and white sperm coats her
thighs and pubic hair.  The flash reflects off her
nipple rings.  She still looks smug.

I reach for my zip disk.

THURSDAY 12:05 a.m.

I roll onto my back.  I ve been thinking of the
pictures -- again.  I v    e rolled from my back to my
side and back again dozens of times.  I cannot roll
to my stomach because of my steel hard dick.

I can t stand it anymore.  I roll against Julie.
She is lying on her side with her back to me.  We
are in the "spooning" position.  My cock presses
against her ass.  

I kiss her neck.  I run my hand across the silk
panties.  I kiss her earlobe and run my hand along
her thigh.  I lick the nape of her neck and slip my
hand under her teddy and cup her breast.

She stirs.  She giggles.  "What are you doing?" she
whispers, as if the children might hear.

"I m horny.  Let s make love."

She giggles again, but turns to me and we embrace.
We kiss, our tongues dancing together.  My hands
caress her body.  She strokes my erection.  I dip
my hand into her panties and run my finger along
her gash.  The lips slide apart easily and my
finger enters her depths.  Her pussy is wet and
dripping.

She kisses me hard and presses my head down.  I
kiss her neck.  She presses my head down with
greater urg    ency.

I kiss the valley between her breasts.  I shift my
position and nip at her breast.  I take the nipple
into my mouth and use my tongue to flick the nipple
ring.  She groans, but pushes my head down again.

"You know what I want" she growls.

I move down the bed and kneel between her legs.  My
hands slowly slide up her legs.  I grasp the waist
band of the panties.  They are lavender.  I slide
the purple lycra down.  Julie lifts her hips and I
slide them off her ass.  They come down to her
knees.  She rai    ses her left foot and I slide the
panties off her leg.  Before I can take them off
her right leg, her legs spring apart, pulling the
panties from my grasp.  The underwear lies crumpled
under her right ankle.

Moonlight streams through the slats of the blinds.
The red numerals of her clock radio gleam in the
darkness.  The greenish backlighting from my clock
adds to the dim light of the room, but it is enough
to see the dew of her sex glistening on the hairs
of her pussy.

She crooks her leg, presenting me with her knee.
She loves it when I when I lick behind her knee.
In my current condition, I can refuse nothing.  I
bend my head to her leg and flick my tongue behind
her knee.  She squeals with delight.

I move to her other knee and repeat the kiss.  She
    straightens her legs and they move farther apart.
I kiss and lick my way up her legs.  I alternate my
attentions, first the left leg, then the right, but
always moving forward, slowly forward to that
representation of paradise that sits at the top of
her legs.

After what seems like hours, but has only been a
minute (maybe two) I reach the gate of heaven.  I
lick along her slit.  She moans as her hips lift
from the mattress and grind into my face.

As I lick her clit, I look up.  I expect to see her
eyes, watching me.  Julie never denies me sex, but
if she isn t into to it, she ll just lay and watch
me as I have my way with her.  But her eyes are
closed and her fingers are toying with the nipple
rings.  Tonight, she is into the sex!  I feel
powerful.

I can t wait any more.  I move forward and prepare
to enter her.

Her legs close slightly.  I hadn t noticed the
movement, but she has     reached into the nightstand
drawer and withdrawn a condom.  She holds it out to
me.

I don t say a word, but I look at her questionably.
Just this once?

She cocks her eyebrow and her legs squeeze tighter
together.

We have no other birth control.  I know the rules.

I open the package and slide the condom onto my
cock.

I hurl the wrapper to the floor.  I grasp her hips
and slam my cock into her.  There is no resistance
to my intrusion.

Julie looks up at me in surprise.  I rarely show
this much desire.  Or is it anger?  I pull my cock
back and slam into her again.  I feel nothing.  I
cannot read her expression.  Is she intrigued by my
reaction or amused?  She smiles.  She closes her
eyes and lays her head back upon her pillow.  One
hand moves to her nipple ring and idly twists it.
the other hand moves to her clit and she begins to
masturbate.

I pull upward on her hips which give    s me friction
against the bottom of my cock.  I saw in and out of
her pussy.  My hips go back and forth, back and
forth, back and forth.

Julie arches her back.  Her finger is a blur on her
clit.  She pulls my head to her nipple and as I
bite down on her breast I see her orgasm as a
grimace that moves across her face.

I think of the file from Jim.  The woman s legs
spread so far apart.  The sperm coating her thighs.
The smug look on her face.  My penis throbs and
throbs and throbs as my sperm fills the bubble of
the condom.

I fall across Julie.  Our mouths meet, our tongues
dance together.

I don t mention the photos to Julie.

FRIDAY 3:47 p.m.

DING

Sally Pearson is sitting in my chair.  She works
with the IT department and is trying to determine
why the indispensable document that I ve spent the
last three days preparing has suddenly decided t
cannot be trusted to view its contents.

She has been fiddling with the program for the last
40 minutes with no success.  I know that eventually
we will reach t    he conclusion that Microsoft makes
shitty products and that I will have to start all
over and then I ll have to tell my boss that my
project is now delayed 3 days because of the Evil
Empire.  But, in the meantime I get to gaze at
Sally s long blond hair and her tight V-neck
sweater and I figure that we can work on this
problem for at least another hour and 13 minutes.

I m so engrossed in Sally s cleavage, I don t hear
the chime.  

"Oh, you ve got mail" Sally announces and clicks on
the message.  My brain finally engages and as I
leap across the cubicle, Sally double clicks on the
attachment.

DING

Sally gasps.  I can t be sure if her shortness of
breath is caused by shock or admiration.

DING

I place my hand, fingers spread as far apart as
possible, in front of the screen trying to block
the image, but she pulls my hand aside and stares.
My 17 inch monitor, displaying millions of colors
is showing the woman lying on her back on the desk.
Her chest is bare.  Her head is hanging off of the
edge of the de    sk.  But Sally s attention is drawn,
as is mine, to Jim s cock.  In honesty, I must
admit that Jim s prick is impressive.  It is very
big.  It is very wide.  It is very black.

"Oh my," is all Sally says.  In quick succession
she opens the other two messages.  They show a
sequence.  In the first, Jim s prick is at the
woman s mouth.  In the second, her lips are opened
impossibly wide and 5 inches of cock has been
crammed in her mouth.  In the last photos Jim s
plum sized balls are resting on the woman s
forehead.

"Jesus, its got to be a foot long!" Sally exclaims.
Without tearing her eyes from the screen, she asks,
"So, is this guy a friend of yours?"

"Something like that" I mumble.

"Maybe you could introduce me sometime.  Better not
let Harriet see these.  She has a very low opinion
of men and knows the computer use policy by heart!"

She tears her eyes from the screen.  Her nipples
are hard and strain against her sweater.  It takes
her some effort.  She glances up at me.  It is as
if she suddenly real    izes that I m there or that
I m a man.  Her face reddens in embarrassment.  Her
nipples deflate.

She rises from the chair, glancing again at the
screen.  I m standing almost on top of her and in
the close quarters she has to squeeze past me, her
breasts rubbing against my chest.

I fall heavily into my chair.

"I ve got go see about something" she says.

Her eyes avoid mine.  They fall to the desk; to the
picture of Julie and the kids in the silver frame.
They move back to the screen and the woman with
h    er tongue licking the tip of the black cock.
Back to the desk - Julie in her Easter outfit.
Then to the screen and the swollen throat.

Finally, she looks at me.  Deep into my eyes.  Her
eyes ask questions.  The answers are there before
her eyes.

She smiles.  A knowing smile.  A smirk.  Her
nipples harden.  She turns and leaves without
another word.

I close the files.

Jim - a friend?  What a joke.

He is not a friend.  But a person who is ruining my
life, one picture at a time, is certainly more than
a mere acquaintance.  The fact is, I ve only met
him twice.

The first time was before any of this started.  It
was at a picnic for the employee s of Julie s
company.  I was introduced to him.  His was one of
a dozen hands I shook and names I forgot on that
day.

The last time I met Jim was about a month after he,
Julie and I started down our current path.  He and
Julie went to New York on business.  They spent 5
days there and Jim drove her home from the airport.

They drove up in his Beamer just as the kids and I
got home from a soccer game.  We shook hands.  We
talked about the weather.  We talked about the
economy.  We didn t talk about Julie.

I had to help Julie into the house - she could
barely walk.  She took the next week off using sick
time.  I took the week off using my vacation.

The nipple rings were new then.  I used ice to ease
the swelling.

I used ice to ease the swelling in her pussy, ass
and jaw.  I cleaned the cuts.  I put liniment on
the welts on her back and breasts.

She never spoke ab    out what happened.  I never
asked.

I went to work the next week and I opened my mail
from Jim.  The first showed Julie dressed as a
whore.  Garish makeup.  A tube top two sizes too
small.  A plastic micro mini skirt.  Thigh high
stockings.  Comical platform shoes.  The second
showed her leaning into the passenger window of a
car.  Her skirt had ridden up and you could plainly
see her pussy.  She is taking money from a guy in
the car.  He is fondling her tit.  And then there
are the pictures of her being screwed on a bare,
stained mattress.  Guys are fucking her in the
mouth and ass and pussy.  Sometimes there is one
guy.  Often there are two doing her at the same
time.  In one picture, all three of her holes are
plugged.  In each and every picture, the guys are
different.

That was the day I got 26 photos.

FRIDAY 7:15 p.m.

The house is in chaos.  I m folding clothes for my
son and daughter.  Julie is packing in the bedroom.
Bright and early tomorrow morning they will all
leave for a vacation.  I can t go.      I used my
vacation earlier this year.

SUNDAY  11:40 p.m.

The house is quiet.  I go to the den and start the
computer.  I slip the zip disk into the slot.  The
directory comes up on the screen.  I scroll through
the photos.  There are hundreds.  I scroll back,
back to the beginning.  To the first set of photos
I received.

I said earlier that Jim was ruining my life.
That s not entirely true.  If any one is to blame,
it is me.  I have had the singular misfortune of
obtaining exactly what I wanted and tha    t has been
my downfall.

You see, after 20 years of marriage I was bored.  I
wanted to spice up our sex life.  She had always
been quiet and reserved.  Even in bed, she was
quiet and reserved.  God, I miss quiet and
reserved.

I wanted to see Julie ravished.  I thought that if
I could get a man to ravish her, it would release
some pent-up animalistic passion within her and
that she would want to share that with her lover.
And, of course, that is exactly what happened.

I told Julie that we needed to add so    me excitement
to our marriage.

She said she was an old woman who had enough
excitement.

I told her we needed to open up our marriage and
swing.

She said I was the only man for her.

I told her that I wanted to see her with another
man.

She said I only wanted to screw another woman.

I swore I only wanted her.

She said that my fidelity was the most important
thing in our marriage.

I swore I would never even look at another woman.

She said that she couldn t sleep with someone else
unless she knew I would be faithful.

I told her that I wanted to let her experience a
well endowed man.

She didn t argue.

We used it as a fantasy.  We incorporated a
vibrator into our lovemaking.  In the throes of
passion, we whispered comments about another man s
touch, another man s smell, another man s cock.

And then one day as we cuddled, she asked if I was
serious.

I wonder if it would have made any difference if I
had said "no."  But I didn t.

There was a summer intern at her office.  She found
him charming and attr    active.

I wanted to watch, but she was too nervous.  They
met at a hotel one night after work.  Everything
worked out perfectly.

He was younger and only slightly bigger than me six
and a half to my five and half.  She complained
though that he was actually smaller around than me.
While he had more stamina, he was a lousy lover.
He was more interested in trying to come in her
mouth (a pleasure she wouldn t allow him) and to
see how many times he could come, than in her
pleasure.  They met about a dozen times.  The
summer came to a close, the guy returned to school
and it provided a convenient excuse to end the
affair.

All would have been well, but the little shit had
to brag about bagging the boss lady.  The bragging
became a rumor and the rumor made the rounds at the
office.

Jim was Julie s boss and he called her into his
office to discuss the rumor.

He told her about the rumors.

She denied anything had happened.

He showed her the personnel manual and it zero
tolerance sexual harassment policy.

She     cried.

He told her she was fired.

We needed the insurance.  We needed her salary.  We
had the house payment and the car payments and the
credit card payments.  So she cried louder.  She
begged.  She pleaded.

He asked how she could cheat on her husband.

She told him it was my idea, that I wanted to
watch.

He said, "Come back when the office closes.  Maybe
we can work something out."

She knocked on his door at 5:15 and didn t come
home until well after midnight.

He told her to strip.

She slipped out of her sensible shoes.  He told her
she was to wear stiletto heels from than on.

She unzipped the high-necked cotton frock and
pulled it over her head.  As she neatly folded it
and laid it on a chair, he told her about the tight
dresses, the short skirts and the sheer tops she
was to use as her wardrobe in the future.

She unsnapped her bra and dropped it on the pile as
he told her to never wear a bra in front of him
again.

She peels down her panties and pantyhose.  He told
her to wear thigh-highs and ga    rter belts.  Her
panties give way to thongs and g-strings.

He didn t take her right away.  I found that
intriguing, almost admirable.  Instead he had her
sit on a couch and touch herself.  Caresses of her
breasts and nipples.  Pinching her nipples.
Kneading her breasts.  Stroking her thighs.  Using
just her fingernail to run between the lips of her
pussy.  Stroking her slit until her fingers were
drenched with her nectar.  Rubbing her juices
around her vulva, her clit, her nipples.  Licking
her nipples.  Sucking her nipples.  Biting her
breasts.  Tickling her clit.  Stroking one finger
in and out of her pussy.  Stroking her pussy with
two fingers.  With three fingers.  With half her
fist.  A finger circling her anus.  A finger in her
anus.  Two fingers in her anus.

He took and woman who had NEVER masturbated before
and without so much as a touch, without taking off
his clothes, he talks her through her first self-
induced orgasm.  And then he does it again.

Only then does he order her to crawl to him.  To
    unzip his pants.  To pull his semi-hard prick from
his pants.  He directs her to lick it.  She refuses
to give me oral sex after 20 years of marriage, but
he doesn t need to tell her twice.  Within in
minutes, she is trying to stuff the head of his
prick into her tiny, virginal mouth.

He warns her of his impending orgasm.  He tells
her, "If you don t swallow every drop, you ll be
fired."  She holds his penis tightly and swallows
what she can.  What overflows, she licks from her
hands and tits.

She gently removes the rest of his clothes and
folds them neatly. 

And then the fucking starts.

They didn t make love.  instead he took her.  He
took her pussy.  He took her ass.  He took her
mouth.

He took her on the desk.  He took her on the floor.
He took her on the couch.  He took her pressed
against the office window.

He took her in the missionary position.  He took
her doggie style.  He took her with her on top.  He
took her standing up against the wall.

He took her in her cubicle.  He took her within
sig    ht of the cleaning crew.  He took her in the
elevator on the way to the parking garage.  He took
her spread eagled across the hood of her car.

He took all of her clothes as a souvenir.

But that s not all he took.

He took her innocence.  He took her purity.  He
took her self-esteem.  He took her marriage.

And it s all because I wanted to spice up our
marriage.  I wanted to watch.

He sent her home to me.  Naked and sore and leaking
sperm from every orifice.

Pursuant to his instructions, she told me
everything that had transpired in graphic detail.

Pursuant to his instructions, she told me about his
cock.  How big it was.  How long it was.  How hard
it stayed.  How it touched places in her that had
never been touched before.  How my cock could no
longer satisfy her.  How inadequate I was as a
lover.

Pursuant to his instructions, she had me shave her
pussy and as I did so, she told me about the rules.
How her wardrobe would change.  How working hours
would change.  How her working duties would change.
H    ow she was to throw her birth control pills away
and how I was to always wear a condom when we made
love.

To my credit, I objected to everything.  I told her
we could live without the insurance and her income.
We could sell the house.  We could live without
cars.  The kids didn t really have to eat three
meals a day.

To her credit, she was honest with me.  She told me
that while she could live without the house and
car, she couldn t live without a larger cock and
since she intended to keep on seeing Jim,     there
was no reason for the rest of the family to suffer.
She even argued that by wearing a condom I would be
safe from disease and if the unthinkable happened,
one of us would be around to take care of the kids.

And so it all began...

When I went to work the next Monday, the first
installment of pictures arrived.  Julie in her
dress, her eyes red and swollen from crying.  Julie
stripping.  Julie with her fingers up her cunt.
Julie sucking her tits.  Julie fingering her ass.
A woman worshiping that hug    e cock.  A woman
licking those balls.  A woman licking Jim s ass.
All of those pictures of the woman being fucked on
the desk, on the couch, on the car.  And all of
that sperm dripping from her lip, spread through
her pubic hair, leaking from her ass.

At some point on that day, I stopped seeing her as
my wife and the mother of my children and she
became some woman and I a simple voyeur.  An
innocent voyeur.  I didn t ASK for these pictures
after all.  They were just sent to me out of the
blue and I was just looking at them.  At some point
I stopped looking at them with shock and began to
look at them with excitement -- to look at them
with a raging erection.

These are the pictures that I look at now, while my
wife and children are off on vacation.  With one
hand I manipulate the mouse opening and selecting
the various pictures of that fateful tryst.  I stop
every so often to push the mouse aside and to lift
the glass of scotch.  I drink deeply and I forget
my role in starting down this path.  I put down
th    e glass and select another picture.  My other
hand is busy too.  

MONDAY 8:03 a.m.

Too much scotch, too little sleep.  The freeway was
a parking lot and now I m late.  This is shaping up
to be a crappy day.

I step off the elevator and turn down the hall.
There is Sally halfway down the hall.  She s
talking to two other women.  They are all watching
me as I walk toward them.  Jeez, I hope my fly is
zipped.

They stop talking as I come within earshot, but
they still watch me.  Sally smiles.  A cold smile.
    
They are standing just outside my boss  office.  As
I pass, I glance in.  Harriet is sitting at her
desk staring out the door.  Was she paying
attention to Sally s comments?



MONDAY 8:16 a.m.

I ve got my coffee.  I ve got my muffin.  This day
has to get better, right?  I launch Outlook and as
it comes up on the screen I tear into my muffin.
Close Encounters plays as the filters start to sort
through my e-mail.  With the family away, I thought
I d go to the game tonight with my friend, there s
something to look forward to.  Three times Tom
Hanks tells Houston about his problem.  Guess
Harriet has been busy this morning.  Various beeps
and whistles tell me about the broadcast messages
sent to the various e-mail groups that count me as
a member.

DING


I     choke on my muffin.  With Julie and the kids on
vacation, Jim shouldn t be sending me mail.  I get
an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

I open the message.  Nothing seems amiss - there is
no message, there is no subject, just the single
JPEG file.  But I can t shake the feeling that
something is horribly wrong.

I open the file.

She is on the couch in our living room.  The light
from the window falls across her face.  The light
is warm and balanced.  It gives her a flattering
glow.

She wears a sheer black bra, black hose, black
garter belt and sheer black panties.

She is sitting upright with her pelvis pushed
slightly forward.  Her left leg is curled under
her.  The right leg is pulled up to her, the foot
rests flat upon the couch, the knee bent and her
ri    ght hand resting lightly on her knee.

She has makeup on, but it is very subdued.  Her
hair is brushed and full.  Every hair is in perfect
place.

She wears her best jewelry.  A gold ankle bracelet
on her right ankle.  Her tennis bracelet on her
right wrist.  A heavy gold chain around her neck.
Her diamond and wedding ring on her left hand.  Her
left hand is held flat against her stomach, the
fingers straight and reaching down to her panties,
the fingers almost touching the waist band of her
panties.

She is looking directly at the camera.  Although
she is not smiling, she looks strong and self-
confident.  She is aloof.  Her left eyebrow is
crooked up slightly, but she doesn t appear to be
squinting.

She is beautiful.

I close the file, but I still feel uneasy.

MONDAY 8:22 a.m.

Maybe something went wrong and they came home
early.  I call the house.  There is no answer.

I call her office.  The receptionist answers.

"Julie please."  Please God, don t let her
recognize my voice!

"I m sorry but Julie is on     vacation this week.
Can I transfer your call to someone else in her
department?"

Should I ask for Jim?  What would I say?

"Sir?  Can I help you?"

"No.  No, that s all right."

I hang up.

I open the file again.  What is wrong with this
picture?

MONDAY 10:30 a.m.

I hit the "Send" button and the message heads off
to Harriet s computer.  Her message had asked a
simple question and it should only have taken a few
minutes to answer, but it has been two hours.  She
has been hovering around my cube all morning.  I
hope that the answer will get her off my back for
now.

It was hard to focus on the research the message
required.  Partly because of the picture and partly
because of the almost constant stream of female
coworkers that has stopped by to inquire how I m
doing and, more surprising, how Julie is doing.  I
would swear that half of them have never met Julie.
I m sure that Sally has been talking.  Harold came
by too.  As soon as I told him that Julie was out
of town with the kids, he wanted me to go to
   oedinner with him.  I declined.  Nothing is out in
the open, but everyone assumes the Harold is gay;
not that there is anything wrong with that.  Sally
must have a really big mouth.  Is Harold interested
in me or is he hoping to get an introduction to
Jim?

I open the picture again.

I suddenly realize that this is a picture of Julie
and not The Woman.  The other pictures I ve
received over the past months have shown the Woman
in blatantly sexual situations.  The other pictures
don t celebrate her as a person.  She is there to
have sex.  So long as the shots can either show her
engaged in sex or sperm dripping from her body, Jim
is happy.  Her grooming, her attitude and feelings
are never considered.

This picture though has been composed to celebrate
Julie.  Even though she is in her 40 s and her
position emphasizes the weight she has been adding
to her tummy over the last few months, it still
presents a portrait of a strong, beautiful woman.

I close the photo and go back to work.

MONDAY 11:05 a.m.

I open     the file.  It is as if a little bell is
ringing in my head.  What is wrong?  What am I
missing?

My vision blurs and the image of my lovely wife
becomes a palette of subdued colors - the brown of
her hair, the black of her lingerie, the gold
highlights of her jewelry.

I hear Harriet approaching and quickly close the
file.

MONDAY 3:37 p.m.

Sally stopped by.  She had nothing at all to say
and she said it in a very condescending tone.  I
felt as if I was watching a mother lecturing a
small, backward child.  Her long hair was hanging
loose today.  She used her hand pull her hair back
behind her ear.  As she did so, the sunlight
streaming in through the hall windows glinted from
her wedding ring.

As soon as it happened, I knew it had importance,
but I didn t know what.  I sat up in my chair.  I
leaned across the desk and stared at Sally s hand.
I tuned her out completely.  She continued to talk,
but I concentrated solely on the light dancing
across the facets of her diamond ring.  Convinced I
was a loon, sh    e finally got up and left.

I turned to the computer and opened the file once
again.  I stared at the light.  The highlights in
her hair.  The shadow on her cheek and neck.  The
sunlight on her nose.  The glint off the metal of
her ankle bracelet.  The gold of her wedding ring.

I stared for a minute.

I stared for another minute.

And then I saw it.  The ring.  The gold wedding
ring.

Julie wanted white gold for her engagement and
wedding ring.  But the ring on her finger is gold.
The swirls and the rows of diamonds added for our
10th anniversary are gone and a diamond and gold
band are here in its place.

I was wrong.  This e-mail did contain a message and
it is right there in front of me.  I see the
picture now in its entirety.  I comprehend the
scope of the thought and symbolism that went into
its composition.  It is an epiphany.

Her hand is flat against her stomach, the fingers
outstretched and reaching for the waistband of her
panties.  But she is not reaching - her hand is on
display, to show me her     new ring.  to make sure
that I see that the ring that I gave her is gone.

Her eyebrow is cocked.  I ve seen that before.
Every time I wanted to break the rule and have
unprotected sex with her.  But she would crook that
eyebrow and in doing so would remind me of the rule
and I would dutifully roll the latex over my cock.
I was protected.  I made sure that I would not be
the one to impregnate her.

Her expression is strong and self-confident.  She
has not been a helpless pawn in this little play.
She is in control and is pleased with her decision.

But the biggest shock is the one I should not be
shocked about.  It is the message that she is not a
40 something out of shape mother who still looks
hot in her lingerie.  No, she is a 40 something
woman who looks good in her lingerie and is about
to have her third child - a child that is not mine.

DING

Talk about timing.

I open this new message and the file it contains.
The message in this photo is entirely devoid of
subtlety.  Its message is clear and uneq    uivocal.

My son is floating on a raft in a swimming pool.
He waves at the camera and appears to be totally
oblivious to the tableau that is set behind him.

On the pool deck behind my son, Jim relaxes in a
chaise lounge.  He wears only swimming trunks.

My fifteen year old daughter is straddling him.
Her butt rests on his stomach as she faces his
feet.  She is wearing a skimpy bikini that I ve
never seen before.  Jim must like it since his
erection creates a huge "tent" in his trunks that
is rising just     inches in front of my daughter.
Instead of looking toward the camera and waving at
her absent father, my virginal fifteen year old
daughter is wantonly staring at that huge erection.

Julie looks on from the side of the chaise lounge.
She is wearing her bikini bottom and is topless.
She is leaning down, as if to kiss Jim.  Jim s hand
rests possessively on the bulge of her tummy.

I have received everything I always wanted and I
have lost everything I ever had.

This day and my life couldn t get any worse.

I turn away from the screen and jump in shock.
Harriet is standing behind me, her wide eyes
staring at the computer screen.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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