Unfaithful: A Romance 

By H. Jekyll

* * * * *



(1) The Incident

When Michael thinks about it after the fact it seems all jumbled, and time 
heaves in huge blocks. Sometimes it is as if everything happened 
instantaneously. Coming down the hall, home a night early. Surprise her. Sarah 
will be so happy. She must be in the bedroom. What are those sounds from back 
there? A man is grunting? "Unnh!" he's saying, complete with the aspiration. 
Then, "Oh you're good, you're good, keep it up, keep it up!"

Hurry now! Something's happening! Why don't they hear his steps? Michael half 
turns the corner into the bedroom and that's when his whole world is torn away 
and he's frozen to the spot, he's floating somewhere in space, he's unable to 
comprehend the simplest thing.

It's George, who works with Sarah, standing, half leaning back against the 
footboard, and he's naked. Sarah is kneeling naked on the floor in front of him 
with his dick sticking in her mouth. George is grunting again. He seems close. 
His hands are on her head, grabbing some of her hair, and he's moving his dick 
in and out. She's moving sinuously, back and forth with the motion of his dick, 
like a mermaid swallowing an eel. He's looking straight down at her and she's 
looking up at him through her eyelashes and her face shows desire. She pulls 
back and he says, "Don't stop," and she answers, "I don't want you to finish too 
quick." It's Sarah's voice, not that of a mermaid. It's her voice when she's 
especially excited. She begins taking his dick in deep and pulling it out, 
keeping her lips tightly around it, the way she eats popsicles.

George's dick is huge, much bigger than Michael's. Even his balls are huge. 
Michael is amazed at the size, at the thickness even more than the length. It 
makes the scene even more surreal. He can only watch, can't move, can't say 
anything. He watches his wife pleasure George and taste and enjoy him, and 
somehow neither of them notices the third person, the witness. Then George takes 
a breath and moans "I'm gonna cum," and Sarah takes him back in her mouth all 
the way, and holds him there and pumps him into her, and finally, way out in 
right field, Michael yells, "What are you doing?"

Later is seems obscenely lame and stereotyped. It's obvious what they are doing. 
But what do you say?

George yells, "Oh shit!" and pulls away and Sarah has a profound startle 
reaction, jerking around toward Michael faster than he would have thought 
possible, shrieking and trying to cover herself with her arms. She stares 
straight at Michael. George had started to ejaculate, but when they jerked apart 
he shot a line of semen across her cheek. Now he crouches back, as though to 
defend himself, and his big dick pumps spurt after whitish spurt on the new 
carpet. Won't it ever finish? How much can there be?

No one says anything, or moves, for how long? Yell at them! Throw something! Hit 
George! Hit Sarah! Instead Michael staggers against the door frame. The room 
starts to spin. He rights himself and inches away, then stumbles all the way 
back out to the kitchen where he leans against the table. He waits. What will he 
say? What will he do? 

There are sounds of scrambling from the bedroom, tense voices, one high pitched 
and one deep. Sharp, short words. Michael hears Sarah's voice over George's, 
saying, "Just go now." What can he do? They'll walk out right past him. Michael 
pushes through the screen door and staggers again, out to his car, gets in, and 
drives away. He leaves his suitcase and briefcase behind.

He drives to his office. The whole way there he's trying to control his driving, 
trying to stay in his lane, to stop at intersections, to keep the car going. At 
first he forgot to turn on the headlights. He wishes he hadn't left. Now that 
he's out he can't stand not to be there, but he can't bring himself to turn the 
car around either. On campus he walks up to the department through the 
stairwell, and the echo of his footsteps is the only sound in the world. What's 
Sarah doing? Has George left yet? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

In his office there's a couch he can sleep on. Hah! As if! He turns on a desk 
light and his computer. He goes to the couch. He goes to the desk. He looks at 
the phone. Should he call her? What would he say? She could call him, but she 
doesn't. She won't. He doesn't consider that she wouldn't know where he's gone. 
Should he go back home? He paces and sits, paces and sits. He starts a CD that 
he won't listen to. His mind just won't stay still. He goes to the bathroom then 
hurries back, afraid he may have missed her call. Go home. You've got to see 
her. He has started to get over the shock, he thinks, and to get angry, but he 
finds himself being awakened at 4:07 a.m. by the cleaning lady. 

In this part of the memory, everything is slower for Michael. It flows over him 
with no particular rush, what has happened. He really had thought maybe it could 
be a nightmare. No, it's real all right. It happened. What do you do about it? 

Michael may as well go home now and get it over with. Face Sarah. He doesn't 
have any idea what will happen. He knows only that he isn't angry at all. He's 
depressed. He's mourning. He washes his face in the bathroom and trudges away 
with the cleaning lady staring after him.

It's worse the closer to home he gets. He almost can't go all the way there. 
Half a block away he actually stops for several minutes and stares down toward 
their house before he finally resolves to drive past it and around the block-but 
when he gets to it her car isn't there. Only then does he realize he hasn't 
really been breathing. He turns up the driveway. 

Where had George parked his car?

Sarah has put a note on the door on a sheet of torn notebook paper. It's in her 
handwriting in blue ink, written with the calligraphy pen Michael bought her 
last Christmas. It's as though she had intended to write him something poetic 
and grand that would make everything okay, but when he reads the note there's no 
style to it at all:

~~~* * * * *~~~

Mike,

I'm so ashamed. I can't explain myself. Please forgive me. I love you. I'm 
sorry. Please believe me. 

I love you, 

Sarah

~~~* * * * *~~~

Below the rest, at the bottom of the sheet: "I'll spend the night at a motel. 
I'm not with George. Please forgive me, Mike."

Michael walks all the way through the house to the bedroom, to the place he saw 
them, his and Sarah's most private place. The carpet has been washed where 
George came on it. It looks like someone scrubbed it hard. He touches it and 
it's damp. He goes into the master bathroom to wash his hand.

What should he do? 

He wanders around the house, looking at everything, wondering how it is so 
different from when he left the day before yesterday. It was just a simple 
professional meeting, the kind of thing he's gone to dozens of times. He didn't 
want to go because he wouldn't know anyone and he'd been hoping almost to the 
last minute that Sarah would be able to go with him. He remembers that when he 
called last night she had sounded happy to hear from him and had said she loved 
him, like she always does. Was George here then too? Was he here during other 
meetings? Were other men here?

His suitcase isn't where he left it. That's a subtle change, not like the 
overwhelming difference to the house itself. There's a ghostly presence, 
something hollow and cold, a strange emptiness, and silence. There are shadows 
he's never noticed, and he hears the floor groan when he walks. 

He finds his suitcase. It's in the bedroom closet, right where it should be, 
empty. Everything has been put away. Everything is tidy. His shirts are hung and 
the top buttons are buttoned. He almost never buttons them on the hangers. In 
the armoire, his clothes are folded and neat, much neater than he would have 
left them. The little cornhusk doll he got Sarah as a present is on the étagère 
in the den, still wrapped. Michael vaguely remembers putting it on the dining 
table just before he went back to the bedroom to surprise Sarah. He has a stray 
thought that he should put it with her doll collection, but he does nothing.

Breathe in, breathe out. His chest seems to be unlocking just a bit. His 
thoughts slow down more. He won't have to face her just now, won't have to worry 
about not knowing what to say or how to handle it. He's already growing 
accustomed to the thought that his marriage is over, or he thinks he is, but 
when he walks back to the bedroom he can't stop staring at the spot on the 
carpet where George came so lushly. The moisture makes it a little dark. 

Finally Michael starts to cry. He fights it. He really does. When he gives in he 
tries to do it quietly, but he can't really succeed even at that. He can't help 
gasping and making the sounds of grief, and his shoulders and chest shudder and 
shake. He leans back against the door frame and tears stream down his face. 

Sarah. Sarah. Please don't leave me. 

It takes a while to cry himself out, but everyone goes dry eventually, and after 
enough time has passed he simply leans there, staring into the room at nothing 
in particular and wondering how he lost his wife.

By and by he is caught in a wave of exhaustion. He strips down to his underwear 
and drops the clothes on the floor, careful to avoid the wet spot, then crawls 
into the bed. He leaves his reading light on. Soon he's almost asleep in that 
half-lit room, occasionally opening his eyes a little to look up at the ceiling 
fan, and his thoughts are slowing, slowing. He's thinking only of Sarah, of what 
he should have done, of what he did, of what he could have done. Then, when he 
begins to drift, an image brings him back. Yes, it's Sarah. George is spurting 
into her mouth and she's loving it. She's excited.

Most women don't drink semen. The majority find it sickening. Sarah is like most 
women that way. She doesn't like it either and hasn't done it once in all the 
years he's known her. Until now, he thinks. He asked her to once or twice and 
she said no, she couldn't, so he joked about it and then dropped it. You don't 
impose that on your beloved. Some things aren't going to happen. You make your 
compromises with real life. 

Sarah likes sucking on George, though, and she is practiced at it. Michael can't 
stop seeing it happen. He was so big! How wide she'd had to open her mouth to 
take it in. She wanted it. He remembers her expression, what she said: "I don't 
want you to finish too quick." She'd been breathing those fast breaths when she 
said it. She'd wanted it to go on. 

It wasn't the first time. It wasn't the first time! Michael is wide awake again 
with that knowledge and with the other things coming to him, his mind working 
fast again but more focused than before. She'd been dressing better and been 
more careful with her make-up, for the first time in years. He'd noticed that. 
He wasn't completely blind. And there were the spots on her blouse, the ones 
that night she'd gotten home late from work, that looked like she'd spilled a 
few drops of milkshake. It was, what, two or three weeks ago? She'd gotten 
terribly upset when he'd mentioned them, to the point that her face and neck had 
turned red, and she had taken off the blouse to hand wash it right away. It had 
been excessive, but he hadn't thought much about it then. Now he knows what the 
spots were, and how she got them.

She loves Michael. She's sorry. That's what she wrote. But she loves George's 
meat, and his cream, and she doesn't want any of Michael's. She's been supping 
there awhile, getting satisfied awhile. 

He can't stay here, to be here when she returns, but he's too, too tired, and 
that's the end of the memory.

 * * * * *

 (2) First Meeting 

 He heard the fumbling at the door and stood up because he didn't think he could 
stand to be sitting when Sarah saw him. Then she was in the door and they were 
both of them just looking at each other and he was paralyzed again. He had 
rehearsed what he would say, but on seeing her it fled him. He almost said "Hi" 
but it seemed so banal that he couldn't manage it. Just inside the door, Sarah 
stood with her feet close together, holding one hand with the fingers of the 
other, not looking at him, not looking away. Her lips were tight and her chin 
quivered. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, the way she did it when she 
was cleaning the house. She was wearing jeans, a pullover sweater, and her 
running shoes. No make-up. Her eyes had bags, like she hadn't slept. She looked 
awful. She looked wonderful.

They were standing in an otherworldly place that crowded out everything they 
knew of the world. Michael was all empty where his heart should be and the 
silence could almost swallow them. Then Sarah's voice came from somewhere, a 
tiny sound, almost nothing at all. 

"I'm so sorry, Mikey."

She waited for a second, and when he didn't reply she went on, "I know you hate 
me, and you have every right to. What I did was horrible. I only hope you can 
forgive me."

He still didn't say anything.

"I love you so much. I'm afraid I've lost you. Please let me try to make it up. 
Please? I'd do anything to undo what I did, to save what we have."

She had to let loose her grip on her fingers to wipe her eyes, first one side, 
then the other, then back to the first side. Michael couldn't answer. It was too 
complicated. He couldn't say anything because everything got in the way of 
everything else. Finally Sarah said it in that shakiest of voices that sounded 
like it was coming through water,

"Aren't you going to say anything, Mike? You could tell me you hate me. Tell me 
I'm a whore. Please say something."

He tried to say something, sighed, tried again, took a deep breath, tried again. 
"I don't think I...there's not...what can I say?" A pause. "I don't hate you." 
Another pause. "I don't think I can talk to you. I can't talk to you right now."

"Mike?"

A pause while he tried to formulate sentences. "I'm going to stay somewhere 
else. Please don't try to see me." Still another pause. "I'll come get my things 
when you're not here."

He wiped his eyes and brushed past her and out the door. He saw her in the 
doorway, heard her calling, "Michael, please don't go. Please! I'm sorry!" as he 
backed down the driveway. He almost stopped. He had to press on or he couldn't 
do it.



* * * * *

 (3) The Argument 

 What did it come down to? There were so many things. He argued with himself 
about it while he walked along the river road. He was walking because he 
couldn't stand to stay inside.

It isn't a matter of just forgiving her. There's more to it. It's complicated. I 
can't see all the parts. I mean she's always been loving.

She has? Well she was sure loving George's dick!

No, damn it! I mean she's never been like that. I don't know what happened.

She was slurping it pretty good. 

That's not it, damn it! I always knew other guys would want her. Anyone could 
stray.

Stray? She was drinking cum!

I know! But what was going on?

Don't you know?

I just don't know.

So what's the point you can't get past?

The big point? It's that she sucked him. That's the big point! That she didn't 
just fuck him. She wanted to do things to him she never ever wanted to do to me!

A couple came along the road walking in the other direction, holding hands, 
looking happy. He nodded to them as they passed.

But oh shit. Anyone can stumble. She's only human. 

Yeah, but she sucked him and she did it in our house. There might have been 
others, too.

But am I so pure? I'm not. I sexed two other women since we were married. I 
fucked Susan at three different meetings. I didn't even feel guilty. I loved it. 
I just worried what would happen if Sarah found out. It was, shit, it was 
exhilarating. What if Sarah had found out? The only difference is I found out 
and she didn't. 

Would she forgive me? 

I think she would, but she would have been awfully hurt. She'd forgive me after 
she hurt me back awhile. 

Do I want to hurt her? 

Yes. No. Fuck off! It's not that simple. I can't make it square one again. I 
could really push her nose in it, but I can't. I can't push her nose in it when 
my nose should be there too. The whole time I was making her confess I'd know I 
should be confessing too.

He pondered this while he walked a few steps, then: Shit. I'm all fucked up.

Yeah. I know. That much I know. But what if she found out about what I'd done 
after I made her crawl? What would she think of me then? 

She won't find out. 

But what if she did? 

She won't find out. 

I'd know. I'd know it forever.

Is that the only thing? 

No.

What's the other thing?

Shut up. 

What is it? 

Drop it!

Say it.

It's that I never did anything with the others I wouldn't offer to her. I never 
held out on her sexually. It never interfered with our lovemaking, never once. 
But Sarah! Damn it, I don't want to go where this is going. 

Yeah, well say it anyway.

Sarah loved drinking George's gizz and she was doing it-how long?-a month?- 
maybe more? Maybe more. But never once did she do that to me. Oh no! The bitch 
never said, "Mikey? I'd like to try something different, something I never did 
before." No, nothing like that. She loved his dick and she loved sexing him! The 
look on her face. She was worshipping the goddamned thing!

Why? 

I don't know. I don't know. 

Maybe I didn't treat her right. I know I could have been better to her. Been 
sweeter. Paid more attention. Maybe she was getting even for something. I wish I 
could put everything together. I can't think straight!

Maybe he's a better fuck. 

That's not it!

No? 

No! I don't know. I just don't know.

Well, maybe it's that his dick is so big. It's humongous. She loved it because 
it's a monster. You can never compete with that. 

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! That can't be all of it! How did she do any of it at 
all? Sarah never even tasted cum. She didn't and now she does. At least his. She 
must have a belly full of it! Why'd she start doing that now? 

Why not? 

Why? What made it happen?

You know, don't you? You know what it has to be.

No. Just that it's something about George. Something that's different from me! 

Maybe it's his personality. Maybe he's more charming, or more outgoing, or more 
sure of himself, more dominant, more masculine, more of a man. Maybe she wants a 
man like that and she's tired of men like me. Maybe that's how he got her to 
suck his dick and like it. 

Maybe she couldn't get off to someone more warm and sensitive.

You're not so damned sensitive.

He stopped thinking and exhaled. He started to shiver, and the next thoughts he 
spoke out loud. "God. Oh God. I'm not much of anything. Whatever it is, he's got 
it and I don't, and I can't compete with him for her." 

He started to cry because he read the equation and knew that in every way he 
came out less than George, and that he really had lost Sarah. That was what it 
finally came down to. He had promised himself he wouldn't cry again, so he made 
himself stop. Be a man about it. Shit.

But she wanted to come back.

"Yeah. Because she got caught and she's afraid of what everyone will think. If 
she came back she'd know it soon enough, what she got from him and not from me. 
What she was missing. If she stayed it would be from guilt or pity. Every time 
we did it she'd be comparing. I'd always come up short."

And narrow. Don't forget narrow. 

Oh shut the fuck up! It wouldn't be any good for either of us. I may as well let 
her go now and try to keep a little dignity. 

Well there's that. You can pretend to have dignity, now that your wife is 
sucking other men in your bedroom.

Damn it! I can try to be a grown up. Not be a total jerk. At least I can keep 
from demeaning myself.

Sure. Be "Miss Congeniality." That's the "B" prize.

Yeah. Yeah. I know. But what can I do? Sarah already chose George. He gives her 
something I can't offer. Something I haven't got. 



* * * * *

 (4) Purgatory

Michael saw Sarah once. She came to his office the second day as he was busy 
trying to keep from thinking about it-not very successfully. He'd been by the 
house when she was gone, like he said, and had left a note on some practical 
matters. He'd added a postscript, asking her not to come see him, but there she 
was in the doorway.

She was dressed smartly and had used make-up. He could tell she was scared and 
it reminded him how much he loved her. Everything became jumbled for him again 
so that nothing was going to be easy. He wanted to crush her to him and tell her 
he couldn't live without her. He wanted to beg her to take him back. He wanted 
to shout at her and tell her to stop fucking with his heart, to leave him alone 
so he could shrivel up without having to deal with her. Instead he managed to 
say, "Hello," and make his voice normal, but right off she made a big mistake.

"Mike, I know what I did was terrible, but it's just something that happened one 
time, and it'll never happen again. I promise it won't!"

Little things can change your world, things less than finding your wife with 
another man. In the realm of all that could be, this was a very small thing 
indeed, finding your wife trying to lie her way out of the heartache she'd 
caused. Such a little thing.

Outwardly Michael merely winced. Inside he was outraged. Bitch! Bitch! Fucking, 
lying bitch! Somehow that made it easier to talk, so he really did shout out 
loud at her, and everyone must have heard.

"Jesus Christ, Sarah! Do you think I was born yesterday? You can't even be 
honest about what went on? The very first thing you tell me? God damn! There's 
nothing to say. How could I ever believe anything you said?"

He watched her shrink down inside herself. Oh shit. I didn't have to do that. I 
didn't have to do it. I didn't have to pound her.

"Mike, no..." Sarah looked around, and put her hands up in a supplicating 
gesture, but Michael was too wound up. At least he lowered his voice.

"Go away. Please, Sarah. Just go away. Think about what you really want. Go back 
to your wonderful fuck. Don't come around to lie to me. It's bad enough you've 
got another man, but you couldn't even respect me enough to tell me the truth."

So she left. She gulped twice and seemed about to cry again, but then she set 
her mouth and, looking neither left nor right, walked back down the hall.

* * * * *

One day led to the next. 

He lectured days, because he had to. He tried to write. He sat in his crummy 
little efficiency night after night and wondered what Sarah was doing to George. 
He went to a movie but left in the middle and didn't go to any others. 

There were practical issues of living apart, so he called several times to leave 
messages on the answering machine. One day the message in his voice was replaced 
by one in hers. Another time he called and Sarah picked up the phone and he hung 
up. He started shaking. After that he didn't call anymore, but left written 
messages on her door. He didn't tell her his address and he didn't list his new 
phone number. Sarah didn't come to the office again and she didn't call there 
either.

* * * * *

One week led to the next.

There was this singles club Michael found his third weekend, when he was crazy 
with loneliness. He met a woman and they talked and he could tell in five 
minutes where it was going. They went to her apartment where they sexed. During 
it he stood, half-leaning back against her desk and she knelt in front of him 
and sucked him off. It was wonderful. It felt marvelous and the thought of her 
swallowing his sperm gave him a stupendous orgasm that left him reeling. She 
seemed to like the whole thing, too. Afterwards, of course, he realized he had 
just copied George and Sarah. Really he'd known it all along, but he'd been too 
caught up in it to care. That came a little later.

He went to another singles club the next weekend, where he met another woman. He 
could tell pretty quickly that he was going to score with her, too. He'd never 
dreamed there was such a pool of available women. He'd known but he hadn't. 

When she found he was a professor and she didn't have to play dumb, she told him 
her hobby was collecting English antiques. She said she identified with 
Elizabeth I, because that was her name, too, and because her hair was red. 

Michael said, "Not a virgin queen, I hope."

He went to Elizabeth's house and they fucked. She gave him a blow job, too, and 
it was nearly as good. He wondered if all women at singles clubs sucked cock, 
and resolved to find out. Elizabeth was different from the first woman, though. 
She was interesting and funny, and her house was packed with prints and old 
objects, and books. She liked antique furniture. She wasn't just a sex toy to 
Michael. Not just. 

They were sitting on Elizabeth's couch, naked, with the lights off, watching 
"Antiques Road Show" while they kept each other bothered. When Elizabeth was 
distracted by an 18th century Chippendale dresser, Michael pushed two fingers up 
her vagina. It was almost better for him than fucking her. She lay her head back 
and closed her eyes and had just enough presence of mind to moan, "You bastard." 
He masturbated her for a few minutes, enough to get her most of the way there, 
then they watched the show some more while he smelled his fingers. When an 
appraiser asked the owner of a frontier doctor's case if she knew its dollar 
value, Elizabeth leaned down and took Michael's penis in her mouth. A few 
minutes later she asked him if he had noticed the value.

"Who cares?" He answered. "You're worth far more than it."

He liked her, enough to call her during the week, and a few weeks later they 
flew to DC for the weekend, to an exhibit at the Smithsonian and "The Taming of 
the Shrew" at the Shakespeare Theatre. 

Elizabeth brought sex toys along. One was a cord with seven balls attached in 
sequence. Michael got a hard-on the moment she pulled it from her suitcase. 
Sarah would never do something like that, he thought. Maybe for George.

The sex toys gave Michael an idea. He told Elizabeth, "This weekend, I'm 
Petruchio and you're my sweet Kate, and you have to do everything I tell you."

She looked blankly at him for a second, then smiled and pulled out her ancient 
copy of the play. "Wait a minute." She looked up the lines she wanted. Then, "I 
am bound to serve, love and obey." 

* * * * *

Elizabeth is kneeling, her head on a pillow, her ass high in the air, waiting 
for the enema to act. 

"Petruchio, my Lord, it is time."

"Then be quick, Katherina."

Shortly, Elizabeth is kneeling again and Michael is playing with her vagina and 
her ass. He takes the cord and a tube of lubricant and begins pushing the balls 
into her rectum, one, another, another. She gasps with each one. When all that 
remains outside is a short length of cord, he rises.

"Get dressed. It's time to go to dinner."

"My Lord! No!"

"Come."

She gasps again several hours later, after dinner, after the play, when he 
finally pulls the balls out, one by one by one. She gasps and moans again when 
he fucks her ass while fucking her vagina with a vibrating dildo. Afterward they 
lie together with Michael on top, and the room seems to rise and dip. He doesn't 
think of Sarah at all, not even that he hasn't done sodomy in years, not since 
Sarah told him she didn't want to do that anymore. No, not Sarah. Not Sarah.

* * * * *

When they slept together afterward, he found Elizabeth liked to touch. Like 
Sarah, she would be touching him when he awoke during the night, her forehead or 
her feet or a hand. Once he woke from a dream, disoriented, and found himself on 
the edge of the bed, and she was pushed up against him.

"Sarah, honey, you need to give me a little more room." 

Oh shit!

"Huh? Did you say something, Michael?" asked Elizabeth. She yawned.

"Yeah, Lizbeth. We need to move back to the middle of the bed."

"Oh, okay." They moved back and she fell asleep again, with a hand on his chest.

She slept like Sarah. 

Michael stared at the alarm clock for awhile. He put a hand atop Elizabeth's. It 
felt like Sarah's hand.

* * * * *

They would have seen each other again, and something might have come of it, 
except for a coincidence. It was almost Sarah's birthday. He'd thought of it now 
and then, and it hit him when be brought Elizabeth home from Washington, because 
she had an area by her front door planted in Calla Lilies.

It might have been different if they'd been any other sort of flower, but Calla 
Lilies were Sarah's favorites. After she and Michael had seen an exhibit of 
Georgia O'Keeffe's flower paintings, she'd torn up a good part of the garden to 
plant them. Sarah knew O'Keeffe had claimed her flowers weren't sexual, but she 
wasn't fooled. She knew they were abstract visions of vaginas, and that 
knowledge made her love them more, so Michael had surprised her with a book of 
O'Keefe flowers for her birthday. She'd gone through the entire book at one 
sitting, and then had attacked him. That's why they'd gotten a large print of a 
Calla Lily for the bedroom, and why he'd taken to calling Sarah's vagina "Lily." 
It became part of their love play, a term of sexual affection.

* * * * *

Michael is sitting on the rocker in the den, reading a book on the role of 
disease in history, when Sarah walks past behind him, pauses, and bends over. 
She's just going to give him a peck atop his head, but no, she lets her hair 
cascade so that it flows on both sides of his face, tickling his ears and his 
cheeks, spilling all the way down to his chest. She's the only woman in her 
office to still grow her hair long. She runs her hands down her hair, across his 
shoulders, to his chest, leaving them right over his nipples. Her hair lets them 
move smoothly, as though over silk, to where she makes gooseflesh on his chest, 
and Michael is aware of all these things about Sarah, her hands, her mouth on 
his hair, her murmur, "Sweetheart, Lily needs to be fed," and he's hard before 
the book is down.

* * * * *

The memory flooded through the car as he drove home from Elizabeth's. He 
replayed it over and again, all the way home. At a stoplight the car behind him 
honked because he didn't notice the light change. It wasn't a distant memory. It 
had happened just before he'd left for that last meeting.

He remembered all through the night. He wasn't going to sleep, so he thought of 
Sarah. Sarah was distant, Sarah was gone. Sarah crowded out Elizabeth. She 
wouldn't let him go. He finally made up his mind to do something he had resolved 
before not to do, get Sarah a present. 

Isn't it unforgivably cold to ignore a birthday? It's necessary, Michael argued. 
She'd see it as a sign of desperation. It would just make things harder before 
she decided to make that official break that was bound to come. Doubtless George 
would give her something. Oh yes, George would give her something. Toward 
morning, though, it seemed that Michael should do it, give her something 
special.

He bought Calla Lilies, of course. He never thought of anything else. Would this 
somehow mess up what was beginning to happen with Elizabeth? When the time came 
he almost didn't leave them. Idiot! Idiot! Drop it. Don't cling! He left them on 
her doorstep, the doorstep of the house filled with the memories the two had 
made, that was alien now. George's fuck house. He left it with a note:

~~~* * * * *~~~

Dear Sarah:

Please have a happy birthday. Though it may be time for our lives to part, I'm 
grateful for the days we had together.

Yours with affection,

Mike

~~~* * * * *~~~

 He'd worked hard to get the words right. It must have been over an hour, with 
several cards ruined, before he had given up.



* * * * *

 (5) Face to face 

Sarah should have been a detective. Twenty minutes after she got home she took 
the arrangement to the florist and demanded to know the address of the man who 
had bought it. She said he'd been stalking her and she'd go to the police if 
they didn't tell her.

Shouldn't Michael have expected Sarah to do something? He had, after all, given 
her a loaded present. But he did and he didn't. Sure, he fantasized this and 
that, but he didn't consider the real possibilities. He shouldn't have been as 
surprised as he was when she knocked at his door. He truly didn't expect her, 
hadn't a clue. For a moment, looking through the peephole, he even thought of 
playing possum. You'd think he would be more self- assured, now that he knew 
women found him desirable. 

What did she want from him? She had no special make-up this time, no special 
clothes. Her face was pink around her eyes. She looked different somehow. She 
looked drawn. He had to open the door to her, and when he did it was like no 
time had passed at all. Was she gathering courage to tell him goodbye?

Sarah did gather her courage again, the way she had that first morning, and had 
again at his office. She began talking, rushing the words out before he sent her 
away again. She was naked emotionally, eyes wet, voice quavering, and even 
Michael could tell.

"Mike, let me say what I have to say before you slam the door on me. Please come 
home. Please. I'm miserable without you. I hate myself and I'm lonely for you."

Michael should have fallen at her feet. Part of him wanted to, but he didn't 
trust her. He didn't understand. He thought she couldn't be serious, not really. 
What should he say? Was there a line inside him somewhere? A phrase from a 
punishment fantasy jumped out. "Well it can't be for lack of good sex...oh 
shit!" Michael grimaced and shook his head. Bite my damn tongue! "Damn! Damn! 
God damn me, Sarah, I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this."

She'd flinched. Yes she had. But she responded to the hidden question. "The 
truth is, I haven't had any sex at all since you left."

With everything swirling in his head, he couldn't resist upping the ante. 
"That's ironic, Sarah, because I have."

Stop it you asshole! Stop hurting her! She's defenseless. Call it a win and move 
on. Sarah would have been impressed by the battle going on inside her husband 
right then. But she wasn't finished. She continued, and Michael came to realize 
she was much braver than him.

"There's no one at all. I don't want anyone else. I keep waiting for you to call 
or come back. Now you've sent this card saying you want to leave me forever. 
Please Mike." Her voice dropped, became soft, weak. "I'm begging you for another 
chance."

Then she looked him in the face, wide eyed, wet, and defenseless. He could have 
smashed her if he wanted to. What did that birthday card say? Why did she want 
him? He still didn't understand, not completely. He subdued himself and 
recovered his soul, but he had to ask something that could be ugly. Don't be 
vicious, but ask. He made his voice as soft as hers, 

"Sarah, I don't know. I just don't know. Are you sure you know what you want? 
What of George?"

Sarah sniffed and wiped her eyes, then her nose. "I told him I can't see him 
anymore. That I won't see him anymore. That I want my husband back. I want you 
back. I want my marriage back." Her voice broke during the last sentence, but 
she regained her control and finished. "I quit my job, because I couldn't work 
around him. I interviewed for a new job, and I think I'll get it."

Oh God. Is this real?

So of course Michael opened the door and let Sarah in, but he was careful they 
didn't touch. He brought her a tissue and offered her a seat at one end of the 
couch and asked if he could get her anything, while he tried to remember what he 
had vowed to say if this ever happened. He was polite and formal as he sat on 
the other end, and he tried to keep his voice from shaking. How easy it had once 
been to talk to her. 

"Sarah, I need to say something first. This is hard, so let me try to say it 
right. The thing is, I don't know if we should try to get back together. 
Whenever I think about it I go round and round. I'm not sure...I don't know..." 

Try again.

"The truth is, I don't know that I can give you what George could. That you'd be 
happy with me. So I have to know the truth about it. The whole truth. Whatever 
happens I can't stand any dishonesty. I just can't."

"Mike..." "Let me finish. Please. Please." He waved his hand spastically in 
front of his face. "I don't need to know about any other men, but I need to 
know..."

"Mike, there weren't any other men. Please believe me about that. This was..."

"Sarah, I don't need to know...okay. Okay. Look. Okay. Oh Jesus. Before we go 
any further." He took a deep breath. It was time. "Sarah, I was unfaithful to 
you."

"I know. You just said..."

"No. Before that. I slept with other women before that."

She didn't say anything at all for a minute. She was completely still. Finally 
she asked, "Why are you telling me this? Do you want to punish me more? Believe 
me, Mike, you can't hurt me more than I'm hurting myself."

"No. No Sarah. I really don't want to hurt you. Part of me did, but not anymore. 
But I don't want anything false between us. I'm confessing...because I'm not 
pure...and I love you too much..." His eyes were watering and he was breathless. 
No, not that! That was all he did for Sarah. No wonder she'd left him. "I love 
you too much...I don't know...to hold anything over you." He screwed his eyes 
and mouth shut, pulled his head down into his shoulders, and made a fist at his 
side. He didn't move for several seconds.

"Mike?"

He held his other hand up, his fingers spread wide. Give me a minute, he 
thought. I can do it. He was so deep within himself, trying to keep control of 
himself, that he didn't hear her ask, "You still love me?" Finally he took 
another deep, deep breath, looked at her, and continued. "I thought about this a 
lot, Sarah. I can't judge your doing something when I did things. Maybe we can't 
work things out, but I'm not going to try to do it with a lie. If I held 
something over you when I'd done the same thing...well...you can see. It 
wouldn't ever be right. It couldn't. So....So...So I can't lord it over you. 
Everything has to be a clean slate."

He didn't want her to see him like this. Damn me! He closed his eyes again when 
he finished and turned away from her, which kept him from seeing her lean to 
him. The first he knew was when Sarah took his hand.

It's a good sign for togetherness when you can cry together. It wouldn't seem to 
be true, would it?.



* * * * *

 (6) Confession

"Are you ready for me to tell you about what happened?"

"I think so." Kissing Sarah's temple, smelling her hair, running his hands all 
over her, holding her close. It was enough to have her. What would he do if he 
could tell she lied now? Would he keep her, even if? Even if he knew not to 
trust her again?

"Well, I did lie to you about how often I'd been with, you know."

"Uh huh."

Sarah picked his hand off her hip and pressed it to her mouth. Then she 
continued, but she didn't let go of his hand. "We were together five times. Four 
that we...this is hard, Mikey. Four times that we went all the way."

"It's okay, babe. It's okay." He kissed her forehead. She smelled like lilacs.

"Okay. Well. Well, the first time he just masturbated me. We'd been flirting on 
and off for a while. It was almost innocent. Then one afternoon we were alone in 
the supply room and the flirting got out of hand and he just kissed me. No. 
That's not true. I don't want to admit it to you. I kissed him. I'm sorry, Mike, 
but I did. It was an impulse. When I did it he grabbed me and I got excited. 
Then he reached up under my skirt and masturbated me."

She stopped for a moment to kiss Michael's hand again, as though it were a good-
luck charm. He kept one arm around her, holding her close so she'd know it was 
okay.

"I told him to stop it, and I pushed down on his hand, but I didn't really try. 
You know how 'no' can mean 'yes?' Well it was as much my idea as his. Maybe 
more. It was something I let happen because it was so thrilling. He told me he 
would see me alone the next day, and I didn't know what to do. I felt guilty and 
I was sure you would be able to tell something had happened, but the excitement 
wouldn't go away." 

"So, what was it about him, honey?"

"He's funny and, oh, impetuous, and I don't know. It's hard to say. He was there 
every day to joke with and flirt with. Being with him was dangerous, and it was 
so much fun to take chances. I don't know now exactly why he seemed so 
entrancing. I know you hate him, but he's really not a bad person. Not in most 
ways."

"I suppose. I know how a man could want you. And I've acted liked he did before, 
so I guess I'm not in a position to judge."

"Anyway, after you caught us I lost those feelings for him."

"Ah, what about his, oh boy, his size?"

"Huh? He's not particularly...oh...you mean his..."

She blushed for him and looked away, and when she looked back she had a sheepish 
smile. "I saw it for the first time the next day. I didn't know they came that 
big, and it did make it hotter. It was, like 'oh wow!' But really it...oh, Mike, 
I don't know if you'll believe me, but it scared me a little too, and it made it 
a little uncomfortable when he...oh lord...when he entered me." She took a deep 
breath after she was done. Michael, though, liked it that she had trouble saying 
the last words.

"I believe you. I believe you."

"Well, anyway, it got completely out of hand. We did it with me lying back on a 
spare desk in the supply room, and after I had finished he made me...do 
fellatio."

Here's where it came up. Michael tried to keep his voice soft.

"Sarah, that's something I don't understand. You always told me you couldn't do 
that."

"I didn't think I could. But it made it dirty."

She laughed. It was a short and bitter laugh. She squeezed Michael's hand 
harder. "Don't ever underestimate the effect when a good girl discovers the 
thrill of being sleazy. Plus the fact that we were sneaking around. It made me 
want to do everything. So I did it. I wanted it. Mikey, I'm sorry. I really did. 
I'd think about it at night, in bed, instead of sleeping. And I kept doing it." 
She sighed, then, "The next time was three days later. He had me lean over a 
desk and did it from behind."

Ask her. Ask her. You have to know.

"Sarah." He paused and she looked at him with worry on her face, as though she 
thought he'd come be a final verdict against her. "Even after you started, you 
never did that to me. It was only for George."

"Oh, Mikey, I couldn't do that to you! Don't you see? I couldn't let you know 
anything was different! Don't you think I wanted to? Here I was sneaking around, 
afraid of being caught. If it wasn't you, someone else would have caught us. I 
couldn't do something that might give you a clue. As it was I thought you'd 
caught me the next time."

"That's when you got some on your blouse."

"Yes. Oh that was horrible! It was about a week later. We were working late and 
George wanted to do it again, but I was in my period, so he pulled me back to 
the executive men's room and told me to give him a blow job."

"And you did."

"I did everything he wanted." Her eyes grew damp again. "Mike, you wanted to 
know everything. If you tell me to go away, it won't be because I lied to you. 
Yes, I gave him a blow job, on my knees while he sat on a toilet in the men's 
room. It wasn't so good that time because it was only for him. I really felt 
like a whore that time. Like I was servicing a client. But..."

And she paused.

"...I still got wet. I was horny almost all the time, and doing that turned me 
right on. I thought maybe you'd make love to me when I got home, because you're 
not turned off when I bleed, but it was a fiasco. He'd pulled out and squirted 
on my face a little. That's part of what made me feel so cheap. I didn't know 
any had got on my blouse, but when you saw the spots I could imagine everything 
blowing up. I was mad at him and excited and scared and guilty feeling, all at 
the same time." 

She turned and looked him in the eyes, her face almost touching his. 

"But I couldn't stop. When I saw him the next Monday, and you were going out of 
town, we set it up to have a time when we wouldn't have to worry about getting 
caught. Pretty ironic, huh? Anyway, you saw the rest yourself, so that's pretty 
much everything. My life as a slut. I'm still ashamed of myself. I'd always felt 
so superior to women who ran around like that."

He pulled her head down to his shoulder and held her there gently with the palm 
of his hand, while he ran his lips around an eye, her cheek, her bangs. He knew 
she hadn't held back, but he still had to know one last thing. "Sarah? What 
would have happened if I hadn't caught you?"

Sarah raised her head and looked straight at him again. Her hand rose to his 
face, but she didn't answer. "I'm sorry. It's all right. You don't have to say." 
He kissed her mouth, but in the middle of the kiss she pushed his face away and 
looked at him some more, her hand still softly on his cheek. She sighed.

"I don't know, Mikey. I think...I know it would have gone on a while longer. I 
don't know what else could have made it end, at least right then. Maybe he would 
have tired of me. A girl at work had a fling that she kind of bragged about, and 
she said it just burned out on its own. I don't know. Maybe I'd still be doing 
it. But I'm not, Mikey. I'm not. It's in the past. I want you. I want us."

"Well, you see..." and for the life of him he couldn't continue. He couldn't 
stop the tic that began in his eye, or the quiver in his chin. It was going to 
happen yet again, and all those thoughts about not showing her how weak he was 
came roaring back.

"Mikey? Say it. You have to be honest too."

"I thought..." Breathe slowly. You can make it. "I thought probably you wanted 
to leave me. For George."

"Oh honey, no! No! I never stopped loving you! I never stopped wanting you!" 
Sarah began to kiss Michael all over his face. "The worst part was that I knew 
it could make me lose you. You have to believe me, darling! I always knew you 
were my love."

Then Sarah stopped kissing and stopped talking. She raised her head and looked 
at him with enormous eyes.

"Michael! That's why you never called!"

"Uh..."

"And I thought it was because you wouldn't forgive me."

"Oh Jesus, Sarah. I could have forgiven you that first week. I just didn't think 
you'd want me anymore."

"Honey! My darling, empty-headed husband! Please don't ever do that again! It's 
too much like a soap opera. The thought that I could lose you not because I had 
an affair, but because we misunderstood each other. Promise me you'll always be 
open to me. Promise!"

"Okay. Okay." They began kissing again, but he was embarrassed that she had 
married such a wuss. 



* * * * *



(7) After

After the distance, after the emotions, after the confessions, after everything, 
comes the sweet. Tender touches. Kissing lightly here, and here. Murmuring 
absurd things. 

"You know, hearing you talk about sleazy sex has made me awfully horny."

"Thank goodness! After telling you all that, I didn't know what I'd do if you 
didn't want me tonight."

"I want you to be my slut, tonight."

One thing leading to another, one button following another. Sliding clothes off 
arms and legs and bodies. Feeling the one they each thought never to know by 
touch again, her skin waiting for his mouth and his hands, his flesh cooled and 
warmed by her breath.

He lifted his lips off her ear. What a soft ear, and cool. Her ears had always 
been cool, except when she drank alcohol, when they became red and warm to the 
touch.

"I'm glad you came to me and forced me to listen," he said, and moved his mouth 
over the soft lobe. He blew lightly into her ear, "But why the detective work? 
Why didn't you just come to the office?"

Sarah pulled her ear away and replaced it with her mouth, sucked on his lip, 
slid her tongue over his, moved to his cheek and rubbed her mouth over his 
whiskers.

"Mikey, you told me not to." She sounded self-conscious about it, a little 
embarrassed. "And I couldn't bring myself to see you with anyone else around. It 
had to be in private. You don't know how many times I almost turned around and 
went home today. I couldn't have done it at all if you hadn't left that note 
saying you were making the separation permanent."

He had to look at that note again!

Michael was on his back, leaving his cock convenient to Sarah's hand. She 
stroked it, the whole red thing, from the tip, past the head, all the way down 
to his balls. Michael breathed through his mouth while his penis rocked upward.

"Look. John Peter is happy to see me again." She petted him all along the penis 
again and it surged again, and Michael made a little sound. "Maybe I need to 
punish him for what he did to all those other women."

Michael caught her hand before she could give him a third stroke. "Not all that 
many women, Sarah. And there's one I'm going to have to hurt a little."

Sarah smirked at him. "My husband the heartbreaker. You know a lot of women have 
always lusted for you. I can't feel too sorry for whoever she is." She stroked 
John Peter again.

He took her hand again. "She's not bad. She only went with me because I was 
separated. Now I have to tell her I'm going back to my wife."

"Well do it quickly. And you know you have to tell me the things you did, too." 

"Yeah, when you need it to get sexed up."

"You're going to wait that long? Well maybe you're not good enough to come back 
to me."

"We'll see how good I am."

Michael rolled over and pinned Sarah. He moved his face to her underarm and 
nipped her, and his reward was to hear her little gasp and see her chest jerk a 
fraction. He moved his face over her chest slowly, to one of her small, pear 
shaped breasts, and sucked the nipple into his mouth. He sucked until it grew, 
and he flicked it back and forth, back and forth with his tongue. He felt her 
bring a hand to his head and hold him to her breast.

"Harder! My Mikey. My sweet man. Ow! Not so hard."

He trailed fingers down Sarah's belly, through her hair and lightly between her 
lips. They were slick and oiled and he knew they had her scent, so he 
reluctantly left her breast and moved further down, sliding his whole face over 
her belly, nibbling and licking and tasting her, to her mound and her curls and 
down to her vagina. He licked all the way down Sarah's slit, then moved his body 
down until he was facing her vagina right on. She was breathing fast. He could 
see her breathing in the movements of her belly. 

"I didn't think I would ever taste Lily again." He flicked his tongue over her 
clitoris, then all around it, and then lifted up his head.

"Oh you're a bastard, Mikey. Don't leave her now that you've found her."

But when he kept his face above her to torture her, giving her little licks on 
her hood and blowing long, slow breaths on her clitoris, Sarah reached down to 
pull his mouth to her.

"Is that how you treated those women? It's a wonder they...oh...!"

He sucked Sarah all the way in, her labia and clitoris, everything, and moved 
all the way down to her mouth, then up again, smelling and tasting everything, 
pushing two fingers inside her while he licked her, and getting re-acquainted 
with how she felt inside. He stopped just once, to look up at her and murmur, 
"My Lily," and then he finished her, sucking in both labia again and running his 
tongue up and down, over and again, biting Sarah so she would hold herself 
still, then sucking her again so she would move, and she started to make those 
sounds he always loved, always had loved about her, half gasping and half 
crying. She made them faster and faster and higher pitched and then she came 
loudly, as though crying, holding Michael's head to her crotch so hard he could 
hardly breathe, crying on and on. God she sounded beautiful!

He crawled up beside her while she was still gasping, so he could see her face. 
Her eyes were closed and she didn't see his expression, full of something like 
wonder. He brushed his lips all over her face. He knew she could feel it, though 
she couldn't respond just yet.

Finally her breathing eased. Her eyes opened, just barely, and she half rolled 
to her side and put a hand on Michael's waist. "I'm going to be sooo sweet to 
you, my darling."

After they kissed some more, she began to inch down the bed, toward the foot, 
until she was far enough down to take his penis in her hand and pull it toward 
her face.

"No," said Michael. He put his hand atop hers, over his penis.

"What?"

"Don't do that." "Mikey, you really do want to punish me."

"No. Just don't do that. Not now. I don't want that."

"Oh-oh," she said in a sing-song voice, and she switched to the high-pitched 
baby-talk voice she used when teasing him. "You know what I think? I think my 
sexy but very silly husband thinks I won't like John Peter."

Sarah grabbed his penis like a microphone. "Does you fink I won't wike you, John 
Peter?" She shook it side-to-side. "Me neiffer." In her regular voice she said, 
"Believe me, honey, I'll make it worthwhile to you."

"I believe you. I do. Just not this time. Please. Some other time."

Sarah let loose Michael's prick. She knelt upright and looked him in the eyes, 
put a hand to his cheek, and bent to kiss him. Just a light kiss. Michael sat up 
to her and put both arms around her, his left around her waist and his right 
around her shoulders. Sarah didn't take her hand from his cheek the whole time 
he was moving. Now she looked directly into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mike. I made such a mess of everything."

"Don't say that. It's not all your fault. You know that. Some things just take a 
little time."

She sighed. "Is there anything I can do?"

He was afraid she was going to cry again. No, please don't.

"Just love me, Sarah. I'll be okay. I promise."

"Okay. I can do that. I can love you. You know I can do that."

Sarah lay her head on Michael's shoulder and put both her arms around him. After 
a minute she lay down and pulled Michael down to her. She spread her legs to 
welcome him home.

End. 
