Message-ID: <42286asstr$1052215815@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: PJcocoa@aol.com
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X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 5 May 2003 17:13:06 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} Smokin' Hot Sex, Redux by Gary Jordan (MF cheat)
Date: Tue, 6 May 2003 06:10:15 -0400
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X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw
Author: Gary Jordan
Title: Smokin' Hot Sex, Redux
Part: 1 of 1
Universe: Smokin' Hot Sex
Summary: Why write when real life is so messy?
Keywords: MF, cheat
*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*
Smokin' Hot Sex, Redux
Subj: Re: A sex story YOU have to write!
Date: 5/05/03 19:00:55 Eastern Standard Time
From: PJcocoa
To: Alexis in Alaska
Dear Alexis,
The darnedest thing happened this week! You remember that Smoking
story you wanted me to write? Remember how I got credit for two
stories just by publishing the e-mails we exchanged about "Why I
Couldn't Write That Story"? Well, "Jack" of Jack and Jill from
"Smokin' Hot Sex, Too" reads ASSM and ASSTR!
He recognized me from the story. I mean, "Duh!" I write under my
own name, not a pseudonym, but he said he wasn't sure it was me
until he read the "Smokin' Hot Sex" stories. He said that was the
giveaway.
We exchanged a batch of e-mail the last couple of days. He told me
I recently missed a reunion of the crew of the sub we were on
together (I already knew, I'm on the reunion mailing list), and we
chatted about people we knew and swapped lies about how well we're
doing now.
As with most of my Navy friends, we lost touch when one of us
transferred. In this case, me. After the next patrol, I
transferred to a Fast Attack sub. Unlike the Boomers (missile
subs), attack boats only have one crew, they're at sea a lot more,
and their schedule is irregular. That visits havoc on friendships
and not a few marriages.
My marriage to PJ survived; Jack's marriage to Jill didn't. I'm
cutting and pasting from his last e-mail. He gave me permission to
turn it into a story, but I'm not sure it's my cup of tea. Maybe
you can give me a hand.
Anyway, after changing ALL the names, here's what he sent:
<snip personal stuff>
So anyway, Jill and I divorced about a year after the stuff in your
smoking story took place. I blamed you for a while but got over it.
None of it was your fault, I just needed to blame somebody and you
weren't around by then. What I really mean is that I blamed that
stupid "Smoke-enders" routine you and Peej came up with, but that
wasn't the problem either.
The real problem was that I was eight years older than she was, and
my sex drive was slowing down. At the same time, hers was hitting
its peak. All the smokers anonymous thing did was accentuate the
facts. I thought she was happy. Between regular daily sex, plus
toys and oral sex, I figured we had the difference in drives under
control.
I got complacent. You talked about the schedule in your story. You
were emphasizing the "off-crew" period when our crew was home for 95
days. You didn't put any emphasis on the 105 days when we were away
and the other crew was home for 95. <The difference of 10 days is
because both crews overlap on board the ship for 5 days on either
end for turnover and change of Command - gj>
Well, it turned out that Jill had "Blue" and "Gold" husbands. You
remember Willy Longfellow? Probably not, he was in my division on
the other crew, not yours. I didn't find out until the crews
combined for decommissioning the next year, but he was living at MY
house and sleeping with MY wife while our crew was at sea!
Jill must have thought it was perfect. Except for turnover, she
always had a "husband" seeing to her needs, taking care of the car,
doing the little chores around the house like water heater repair
and so on. I thought my wife was resourceful - there was never any
broken stuff waiting for me to repair, like I heard so many guys
complain about.
I suppose she was resourceful, in her own way. Since one or the
other crew was always on the ship, there was never any chance of my
running into him sneaking out the window or anything. Plus, we had
that house out in <small CT town in the sticks - gj> with no close
neighbors, so they pretty much got away with being together full
time.
I suppose if the wives' club had been more active, like they were
when we were home, she might have had to juggle her affair more, and
I might have found out sooner. As it was, she could beg off getting
together often because of the long drive, and she did stay in touch.
Like I said, I didn't know anything until the crews combined. Both
Willy and I were slated to take her into the yards for
decommissioning, so we were both home at the same time. That's when
Jill's arrangement began to come apart.
She liked being married to me. I was a Senior Chief with good
prospects for making Master Chief. Willy was a Second Class up for
First for the third time. The house was mine. I inherited it from
my grandfather, paid up. With me at home, Willy lived on the ship
or in the barracks. What she liked about Willy was that he was five
years younger than she was and (as I found out later) better
endowed. That was the part she was unwilling to give up.
You might remember that the base hobby shop was fairly outstanding,
as hobby shops go. She said she was taking up pottery. She used
the molds to make ceramic busts and figurines and so on. After I
saw a few, I thought that was pretty neat and decided to join her.
After all, the family that plays together...
She got maybe six nights over three weeks before I joined her at the
hobby shop. Her first efforts while we were there together didn't
turn out as well as some of the stuff she'd brought home, but I
bought it when she said I made her nervous. I worked at another
table, mostly, but I was there and she couldn't just leave.
She used Wives' Club business a couple of times, but the COB
<"Chief-Of-the Boat": Senior Enlisted man aboard, works directly for
the Executive Officer -gj> and I were good buddies and his wife
passed schedules directly to me to give to Jill, so I had too much
information for that to work.
Worse from their perspective, I made out the watch bill, and Willy
was in my duty section. His nights off were my nights off.
Actually, I stood duty one day in six to his one in three, but he
was never off on a night when I wasn't.
The next ploy was "nights out with the girls." She explained that
while the ship was out (meaning our crew, of course), she'd gotten
used to an occasional night out with just her female friends. "You
know, just window shopping or getting together to bitch about our
husbands. Girl stuff." I asked why she didn't get enough of that
at the Wives' Club meetings. She said the combined crew Wives' Club
had a lot of women she didn't get along well with.
Gar, I never understood why she didn't just call it off. She could
never explain it later, either. I mean, she'd had an affair, but
she'd been discreet. Now I was home almost every night, and the
situation that had permitted and abetted her discretion was gone.
She went out only twice before one of the girls she claimed to be
out with called to say "hi."
I always said momma didn't raise no fools. I didn't even give a
twitch when I chatted with Judy. I busted Jill's alibi for the
previous outing as well without ever arousing Judy's suspicions, and
promised to deliver a message. I'm guessing that Jill never
expected her friends to call because it was a toll call where we
lived.
So now I had suspicions. I suspected my wife was cheating on me,
but I had no idea with whom. I decided to follow her next time she
went out with the girls and find out.
When she got home that night, I was watching from the upstairs
window with the lights out. Only the porch light and living room
lights were on. She parked her car next to mine in the drive, and
then walked over to a mud puddle from the last rain, knelt, and
dropped sideways in the mud, careful not to dirty her purse.
I was in bed feigning sleep when she came upstairs. She went
straight to the shower, mumbling. I "woke up" and asked her what
happened. She said she'd been startled by a raccoon and slipped and
fell in the mud. It was a convenient excuse not to come near me and
to throw her clothes straight into the washer. Now I was sure she
was washing off evidence, and she'd explain away any bruises by her
"fall."
The next day, Willy put in a special request chit for a duty swap on
Saturday, four days away and my next duty day as well. Nothing
unusual about that - you remember, guys did it all the time to get
long weekends. I approved it without a second thought about Willy.
I DID have second thoughts, but about myself. I put in my own chit
with the Div-O after finding someone to swap with. (In my case, I
swapped $100 with Chief Jurgens.)
The next thing I did was take care of my pick-up truck. Jill'd spot
it a mile away. One of the missile techs had a junker for sale, so
I told him I wanted to test drive it overnight, and he could drive
mine while I had his. His was a nondesript Ford POS. Perfect.
Come Miller time, I left the ship only minutes after Willy and two-
thirds of the crew. Typical last minute crap every supervisor deals
with, plus I changed into civvies. Even with the delay, I was
cruising up the pike just about at my exit when Willy's Trans Am
blew past and took it ahead of me. He must have stopped for gas.
That was my first inkling of whom it might be - I couldn't think of
any reason he'd be headed out our way.
There was no way the MT's Ford could keep up with a Trans Am, so I
never got close to his tail. When I got to our place, I parked
alongside the road and walked up through the woods. Sure enough,
Willy's TA was behind Jill's Cutlass in the drive. I was so pissed,
I used my TL-29 to cut away the valve stem on the driver's side
front tire.
I took my shoes off on the steps, then went in. Living out in the
country, we almost never locked the doors. Jill hadn't tonight,
either.
Did you ever visit? I'm sure you did, we used to have cookouts when
the weather was good. I'm sure you and Peej had been out more than
once. Do you remember that the only air conditioning was a window
unit in the master bedroom and another in the den? We normally had
all the windows open when the weather was tolerable.
The windows were open that night. Sitting on the porch, unlacing my
shoes, I could HEAR them going at it. My bedroom was right above
me, and there wasn't any doubt about what was going on. I was mad
enough to kill.
I went in, and up the stairs. I managed to keep it together enough
to avoid the creaky parts of the floor and the steps. The bedroom
door was wide open. I stood in the doorway, and looked at a
candlelit scene I'll never forget.
Jill was on her hands and knees, facing the headboard and away from
me. Willy was behind her on his knees, humping like a wild man.
Jill was screaming "Harder! Faster!" while Willy just grunted,
"EARN that cigarette, bitch!" My rage turned ice cold.
Jill's low dresser was by the door. Her Polaroid camera was on the
dresser. If I remembered correctly, it had all but one shot of a
ten-pack loaded.
Flash! Willy and Jill en flagrant, doggy style.
Flash! Willy pulling back and turning, his wang all shiny and wet;
Jill's head looking back over her shoulder in shock, her cunt
gaping.
Flash! Willy stumbling backwards off the bed while Jill tried to
roll over and reach for the covers. Willy's mouth is contorted by
the word "Shit!" and Jill's is round with the word "No!" over and
over.
Flash! Jill still "No!"ing and pulling the covers up; Willy's head
impacting the window sill.
Flash! A lump of bedspread hides a sobbing Jill. Only Willy's left
foot is visible above the edge of the bed. A trail of bright red
from the window sill downwards, with splatter all around it.
I set the camera down and walked to the nightstand. I picked up the
phone and dialed the town constable's number - we didn't have 911
service, then. I asked for an ambulance and the assistant
constable. I knew him, we went to school together. He said he'd be
there before the ambulance.
I yanked at the bedspread and Jill shrieked "Don't look at me!
Don't look at me!" I told her to get dressed. Something in my
voice made her jump. She grabbed her clothes and ran to the
bathroom.
Gar, I didn't want to touch Willy. I especially didn't want to move
him. What I did was press that bedspread to the back of his head as
gently as I could, to slow the blood flow.
I was still holding it when Tom, the assistant constable, arrived.
He yelled my name and I answered "Upstairs." The EMTs came in with
him. They took over and Tom pulled me aside to ask what happened.
Jill was still locked in the bathroom.
I showed Tom the pictures. He turned several shades, alternating
red and white. He asked what happened and I told him everything I'm
telling you. Jill was in the bathroom the whole time.
As I was finishing my story, his radio informed him that the
"accident victim" had been pronounced DOA at the hospital. "How do
you want to handle this?" he asked quietly.
"It was an accident. Let's leave it at that. I'd rather the
circumstances weren't made public." None of this would do Jill nor
I any good. Tom took Willy's clothes and other effects with him,
arranged for a tow for the Trans Am, and went to file a report. He
said he'd prepare a statement for me to sign as witness to the
accident. He took a couple of pictures of just the windowsill and
wall without the bed before he left.
Finally, I knocked on the bathroom door. Jill opened it just a
crack, and looked out at me with red eyes and a terrified
expression. I asked her to meet me downstairs.
Gar, seeing her face, all wet and ragged from crying... seeing how
scared she looked, I wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her,
you know? But then I'd think about what I'd heard and seen, and I'd
get all pissed off again. I still loved her, but I sure didn't like
her very much at that point. That was as confused as I've ever
been, you know? Anger and love and hate and sympathy and disgust
and God knows what else all balled up and tearing me up inside.
She came down the stairs and she looked shrunken. Pitiful. Both
younger and older. I told her to sit on the couch and she did, like
a schoolgirl with her legs together, wringing her hands and
sniffling.
I said, "I'm getting something to drink. You want anything?" She
shook her head, not making eye contact. I grabbed a beer from the
fridge. I wanted something stronger, but if I started getting
drunk, I didn't know what I'd do. I grabbed a box of tissues on the
way back and tossed them on the couch next to her. She flinched.
I didn't see any easy way to talk and I couldn't see any point in
putting it off. So I started. "How long has this been going on?"
She must have known what I'd be asking. She didn't hesitate,
although I could hardly hear her. "Three years, more or less."
"Three years!" I yelled. She flinched again. I tried to control
myself. Three years meant the whole time Willy was on the other
crew. "How did it start?"
"Some of us wives used to go dancing at the clubs together.
Chaperone each other. It was fun and as long as we stayed in a
group, it was harmless. One night, Judy was supposed to meet me at
<country western bar outside of Groton -gj>. At the last minute,
she got sick. I was already on my way so I didn't get the phone
call.
"I got there and got us a small table, and had a drink while I
waited for her. Some guys sent over a couple more, but I didn't do
more than glance at them. When someone tried to join me, I'd
explain that the seat was taken."
"Why didn't you just come home?"
"I was expecting Judy! We were supposed to meet there." She
sniffled again, and continued. "One or two guys asked me to dance
and I turned them down. Finally, after the second drink, a waitress
brings me this note and asks if I'm Jill. I said yes, so she gave
it to me. Judy had called the club and told them what I looked like
and that she couldn't make it. I was disappointed. You know how
much I liked to dance." I nodded. "Anyway, this guy asks me to
dance, and it's a fast dance, so I figured one wouldn't hurt.
"Willy's a great dancer. He whirled me around expertly, and kept me
on the floor for another. When I got back to the table, I was
winded and needed something to drink, so I gulped down one of the
drinks someone had sent over earlier. I had a fairly good buzz, and
I was enjoying myself, so I stayed a little longer.
"After a while, I had a few more and danced slow with him. He was
really smooth, rubbing and pressing on me without getting grabby.
Jack, I got drunk and horny. I never meant for anything to
happen..." She broke into tears again.
I waited until she managed to sniffle it back. "He said he couldn't
let me drive home in my condition. He gave his keys to somebody and
took mine. It seemed reasonable at the time, you know? I stayed
awake enough to give directions. Then he helped me into the house.
He helped me up the stairs. He helped me undress
"Finally, he helped me with my horniness so I could sleep." She was
sniffling all through the recitation. Now she was sobbing again.
"That explains one night. I could forgive one night. It doesn't
explain *three years*," I told her. "When you woke up sober, why
didn't you send him on his way?"
"When I woke up," her voice was even lower, "he was slowly fucking
me again. He was very good at that. Afterwards, he took a shower
and went downstairs. I was still laying in bed, feeling tired but
good, and I heard the lawnmower. He was cutting the grass.
"It was the start of a long weekend. He didn't have anywhere else
to be. I didn't have anywhere else to be. He'd take care of some
chore or other and come back inside to make love. It felt good. It
felt domestic. By the end of the weekend we had an arrangement."
"If he was so damned good, why the fuck didn't you ask me for a
divorce?" My anger made her flinch again.
"I loved you!" she wailed. "I never loved him, not that way. It
was just good sex, and comfort, and companionship."
"You loved me," I repeated coldly. "Was the sex that much better
that you couldn't live without it once I was home to provide the
'comfort' and 'companionship'?"
She hesitated and I knew the answer. Gar, I never claimed to be a
stud. Ever. Shit, you told the whole world in your story how
little I knew about oral sex. But I always tried to make it good
for Jill. I was never a 'wham, bam' kind of guy. But Jill was
telling me by her silence that either I was no good in bed, or Willy
was a super stud. Either way, my sex life with Jill was over, man.
That meant our marriage was over. I told her so. She begged and
pleaded, but all I could think was she'd find another Willy to give
her what I couldn't, and I couldn't deal with that. She said she'd
never see him again, and I broke the news about Willy. I hadn't
realized she didn't know. She just cried harder. More guilt, I
suppose.
I made her pack her shit and get out. Showed her the pictures and
told her not to contest the divorce, or expect alimony. She cried
the whole time, but she filled her suitcases and the back seat of
her Cutlass and left.
Anyway, I found myself a new wife, finally. Jane doesn't smoke,
never has. I like that in a woman.
You can take everything I told you and turn it into one of your
stories. Jane reads them with me. She especially likes the ones
about Jeanine and that guy (What the hell is his name, Gar? You
going to tell us someday?). If you're ever up in Connecticut, give
us a holler and drop by.
Well, Alexis? I don't normally write "cheating wife" stories. What
should I do with this one? I mean, other than changing the names
and snipping the locations, I don't have a lot to add.
Maybe I should just publish this e-mail. It worked before.
Gary Jordan
"Old submariners never die, but they have their ups and downs."
"This communicating of a man's self to his friend works two contrary effects,
for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in half." - Francis Bacon, Essays
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