Date Night Interrupted

I would like to express my thanks and gratitude to Randi for inviting me to participate in this very special event. Please check out the other stories. You will be in for a real literary treat.

*

As Michael Brady was parking his Ford Focus in the double wide garage next to his wife Candy's Nissan Versa, he had good reasons to be cheerful. This was Friday evening, which in the Brady home, was date night.

They'd been a couple for seven years, four of those as a happy young married couple, and throughout all of their marriage, Friday night was their at home date night. It was sacrosanct and amused or enthralled their mutual friends, so steadfast were they in abiding by it. So far, they'd not missed a Friday date night. So far, that was.

They were in their late 20s, both good looking, childless at present, but they had been seriously discussing having children and had even decided to check out several suitable stores at the weekend to see what would be available to turn one of the bedrooms into a nursery when that time came.

For their date nights one week it would be his turn to cook and her turn to choose a movie, the next week he'd select the movie and she'd cook the food.

Last week he'd really pushed his culinary skills to their limits when he made a restaurant quality pasta alfredo pollo, and for the dessert he had made a tiramisu which had turned out far better than he had expected. The bottle of Chianti he had selected worked very well with both dishes.

Candy had selected an Adam Sandler movie, 50 First Dates, which they had both enjoyed.

He hadn't yet chosen the movie they'd watch this evening; he'd check Netflix once he knew what food Candy was preparing.

When he walked through the door, he dropped his laptop bag in the walk-in closet in the lobby of their house. He gave his normal cheery greeting in his best (not that good, to be honest) Dezi Arnes impersonation: "Hi, Lucy, I'm home!" Even after all these years Candy would laugh at this. But this evening, she was silent and seemed somewhat nervous.

He also noticed that there was no smell of cooking and that the dining table in the living room was bare. "Hey, Candy, would you like me to help by setting the dining table?"

A look passed over her face that was almost akin to panic. "Oh, I don't need your help in setting the table. In fact, I'd like a raincheck on this week's date night, please."

Michael was puzzled: "Why on earth would you want a raincheck for our date night? Do you want us to go out, instead?"

"No, Michael, I want something else. Bob Jones at work has rented a vacation cottage at The Lakes and he has invited me to spend the weekend with him. I'll leave this evening in a little while, he's picking me up in his Mustang, I'll spend Saturday and Sunday with him at his cottage, then on Monday morning we'll drive directly to the office, together.

"After work he and I will have an early dinner and I'll be back home with you at about seven or so. And then we can have our delayed date night and you can reclaim me as your woman."

Michael was stunned by this totally unexpected turn of events. "Reclaim you as my woman? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Bob has had experience in this type of situation before. He assures me that the reaction of the husband is usually to reclaim his wife after she returns from her tryst. Maybe with a special reward, perhaps letting you take my bottom?"

Michael snorted and said: "Oh, great. After a weekend of Bob getting his cock covered in your vaginal secretions, I get to have my cock covered in your shit? No thanks. I think I'll pass on that."

Candy seemed put out by his reaction. "There's no need to be like that, Michael. If anal sex is off the menu, then that's okay. You didn't need to be like that about it."

Michael retorted: "Really? I don't? Anyway, whilst I'm twiddling my thumbs at home this entire weekend, you intend to be having sex with this Bob character?" The tone of his voice clued Candy into the fact that he was, not unnaturally, very unhappy with this idea.

"Please, Michael. Don't think about what Bob and I will be doing together. I don't think you obsessing about it will do your mental health any good."

He shrugged: "Telling me not to think about it won't help. That's like telling someone to not think of a white bear. The harder they try to do that, the more they think of the white bear. Anyway, we had a whole weekend of plans, you and I. What's Bob got that would make you give up on us like this?"

"Oh, honey! No! Don't think like that! I'm not giving up on us. This will just be a brief moment in time out of our long married life together. As for Bob, some of the girls at work have dated him and they speak highly of him as a considerate, capable lover. I sort of feel a connection with him and I decided to accept his invitation for this weekend."

Michael replied: "We were going to visit the local Crate and Barrel branch, Ikea and the nearest Pottery Barn to check out stuff for the nursery when we decide to have kids. And... Oh! I just thought of something."

He placed the flowers on the island between the kitchen and the living room, took his phone out of his pocket, opened an app and tapped some keys. "I just cancelled our dinner reservation for Sunday at Romano's." He continued tapping on the phone before setting it down.

"Why did you cancel the booking? You could have gone there yourself?"

"What the hell? And sit there by myself like a damn simp, surrounded by couples and staff we know all saying to me: 'Hi Michael. Where's Candy?' And what do I say? 'Oh, she's off being railed by her lover?' Get real!"

"Sorry, Michael, I guess I didn't think of that. Anyway, I think you should do something over the weekend to keep your mind occupied. Maybe some DIY projects?"

"Fuck that shit! I'll not be working on this place while you are having a weekend fuck session with your lover. And what gives you the idea that I'd be comfortable with the idea of you making me your cuckold?"

"Oh, Michael. You wouldn't be my cuckold. That sounds dirty and nasty. I'll just be having a one off tryst with Bob, that's all."

"But you just said you and he have felt a connection. What if, after you try him out, you decide that you no longer love me no longer feel connected to me and want to spend the rest of your life with Bob?"

"I promise that won't happen, Michael! I'd never do that to you. You mean the world to me."

"I somehow can't accept your word on that, now. We already promised to be faithful to each other in our wedding vows. How do you hope to be able to convince me that you really mean your promise this time? I no longer feel that I mean the world to you."

"I can see why you might think that way, Michael. But times change and so do social norms. Why don't we agree to talk about things on Monday evening when I get back?"

At that point she noticed the bunch of flowers that he had picked up from the florist that had a small store in the ground floor of his office block.

"Those are nice flowers, Michael. Thank you for getting them for me. Why not put them in water?"

"What's the point? They'll be dead and wilted by the time you get back home on Monday night from your tryst.

"Candy, please don't go. Stay with me, we can quickly put together a meal or order a delivery, drink a little wine. Then we can talk things through. Maybe look at arranging marital counseling?"

She shook her head. "No, I have arranged to go with Bob this weekend. He's coming to pick me up soon. But counseling seems like a good idea, going forward. We can look at booking sessions when we talk on Monday."

"We won't talk on Monday, Candy. We talk now or we never talk again."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Michael," she huffed, angrily. "I'll see you Monday evening. Don't worry. Everything is going to be fine. You'll see. It'll all work out okay."

She hugged him briefly, kissed his cheek, and grabbed a travel bag from beside the front door, swiftly donning a jacket.

As her hand grasped the door handle, she looked over her shoulder at him and mouthed, "I love you," before she walked through the door and out of her marriage.

Michael was not going to put up with such crap. He grabbed his phone, pressed a key to check the recording he'd just made and walked upstairs, removed three suitcases from the walk-in closet in the master bedroom and carefully filled them with his clothing.

He deliberately worked in a slow, methodical way to help calm the rage that he was feeling.

He put his two suits in a suit carrier, put his two lightweight jackets and his two winter jackets, t-shirts and dress shirts in two other suitcases and within half-an-hour he had all of his clothing packed away.

From the home office he removed his tower PC, his laptop and his MacBook and the boxes of random cables, data sticks and pieces of kit that every computer nerd seemed to collect. He made several trips, taking them into the garage and placed them in the passenger seat foot well and on the passenger seat of his car along with his laptop bag he retrieved from the closet in the lobby.

Next, he obtained all his important papers including his passport, birth certificate, college diplomas and the like and placed them in an old messenger bag his late mother had bought him when he had graduated from college.

"Mom, you liked Candy. Thank goodness you never saw this side of her," he said.

The suitcases he carried out to his car and placed them in the trunk. There was even some room to spare, he noted to himself. He filled some of that space with his messenger bag.

He'd noticed with a pang of pain that Candy had taken her wedding rings off and left them on her dresser in their shared bedroom.

He picked them up and took them down to the living room. He took a couple of pieces of Standard Letter sized paper and wrote a goodbye letter to Candy.

Candy, I can't believe what you are doing. I saw you took your wedding rings off, presumably that was so you can play the part of the single woman with your putative lover.

Tonight, I saw a side of you that I don't like. I'm a strong believer in the old adage "When someone shows you who they really are, believe them," and I now know exactly who and what you truly are.

Had I known that you would at some point in our marriage take the unilateral decision to turn me into your cuckold, I'd never have proposed marriage to you. Hell, I wouldn't even have dated you.

I've taken everything I want. I will consult a lawyer, I suggest you consult your own lawyer. The house will be sold.

Goodbye. I hope your time with Bob is worth the loss of our marriage."

He placed the letter on the island next to the flowers, put his and her rings on top of it and left the house he had shared with Candy throughout their married life for the last time, turning out the lights. His late father had instilled a need to save money by switching lights off. Some lessons stay with one for life, he mused.

As the garage doors closed behind him, he placed his phone in the holder on the dashboard and when the Bluetooth connectivity kicked in, he gave his sister Mary a call. "Hi, Sis. It's me, Michael."

"Yeah, I see that, little bro. What's up with you phoning me on your date night? Candy stepping out on you?" She laughed as she said it, intending it as a joke to tease her brother, so she was not in any way prepared for his reply.

"Yeah, she's left me for a weekend of sex with a work colleague. I've left her. Can I please come stay at your place for a while?"

"Oh, holy shit, Michael. I was only joking when I said that. I'd have never expected that from her. Of course you can come and stay. Actually, that'd be cool, though maybe not so cool under the circumstances. Just come right over. There's always a welcome for you, here, you know that."

As Michael drove toward his sister's home, the home where his family had grown up, Michael thought: "Damn it, Candy! When I think of what I gave up to get with you and married you! Well, fuck you!"

Forty-five minutes later, he'd taken his baggage up to one of the bedrooms and was sitting in the living room of the home that their mother had left to him and Mary. When he had married Candy, he had signed his rights in what had previously been the family home to his sister.

They were sipping tea from mugs as they had done with their parents, then with their mother after their father had died, then together as brother and sister after their mother had passed. They chatted about family matters about Mary's last boyfriend, gone the way of all cheaters, until they started talking about the situation with Candy.

"I really can't understand Candy. You seemed like the couple who would make it all the way. Damn it! I was looking forward to being the crazy, fun aunt who gave your kids totally inappropriate, noisy presents. And Candy has fucked all that up. Seriously, I never thought Candy would do the whole cliched 'fucking a co-worker on the side' thing."

Michael shrugged and said: "Neither did I, Sis."

"Any hope of reconciliation?"

"Nope. As I told Candy in the letter I left "when someone shows you who they really are, believe them."

Mary nodded, thoughtfully. "Yeah. I guess you'd never be able to trust her again. You'd always be expecting the other shoe to drop, right? What next? Feeling frumpy after giving birth? Children leaving home? Seeing the first lines round her eyes? The first gray hairs? Every one of those and others could be a potential reason for her to cheat on you again. But she'd always be so, so sorry!"

Michael replied "That's true. That's my thinking, also. I can never trust her again."

"Okay, Michael, go upstairs, take a shower and I'll get you a sandwich, which I'll bring to the bedroom."

"Sis, I appreciate the offer of food, but I'm not feeling hungry at the moment, but the idea of a shower sounds great."

"Cool. By the time you've finished with your shower, the bed will be ready for you."

After his shower he was lying in bed under the comforter, the standard lamp in one corner providing a soft, relaxing glow when his sister entered the room. She was wearing a translucent gown that reached to just above her knees.

She looked at him, grinned and swiftly removed the garment with practiced ease and threw it to one side, where it landed on a chair. The movement made her full breasts quiver. She stood before him, naked.

She tossed her long, raven-black hair over her right shoulder, walked toward the bottom of the bed and swiftly pulled the comforter from the bed, exposing his naked body.

She climbed onto the bottom of the bed, grasped his already hardening penis and, firmly taking hold of it, impaled herself on it.

They made love with vigor and passion for the next several hours before they both fell into a deep, satiated slumber.

The next morning, they ate toast and orange marmalade and drank coffee made in the electric percolator their late parents had received as a wedding present over 40 years previously.

They looked at each other over the table in the kitchen. "About last night," said Michael, his tone perfectly serious: "Was that fucking amazing, or was that amazing fucking?"

Mary burst out laughing, playfully slapped his shoulder and said: "You idiot! Damn, you don't know how much I missed living with you, with you coming out with your silly jokes. I knew when you got married to Candy things had to change and you and I had to stop seeing each other quite so often and the sexual part of our sibling relationship had to stop, but I was okay with that, so long as you were happy with Candy."

"Despite what we you and I had, Mary, I took the decision to give everything I had to Candy. I loved that bitch with all my heart and body and she dumps me for some Dollar Tree Lothario. It makes no sense! Thinking about it, I must have fallen in love with the wrong person. Perhaps the person I fell in love with didn't really exist?"

Mary nodded, sympathetically. "You know, you were 100% right yesterday. Candy has shown you who and what she really is. You going to divorce her?"

"Absolutely! In fact, I'm going to call our trust managers. Luckily, they have a 24 hour service line, so they'll have someone I can speak with, now."

He told the staff member at the company which managed the family trust fund that he needed a divorce, and even though it was mid-Saturday morning, he was swiftly put through to a family law attorney on the company's staff. He shrugged to himself over the fact that 90% of their work was involved in families being wrecked.

Then he realised that the real wrecking was caused by people like his soon-to-be-ex-wife who either couldn't keep their panties up or their trousers on, the lawyers were just like some poor, weary janitor sweeping up after the prom party the night before.

He was invited to open up the firm's online portal and complete a form. When he told them he had audio proof of her infidelity they asked him to attach the file, which he did. Fortunately, their state was one party consent.

Whilst it was a fault-free divorce state, the prenuptial agreement they'd signed four years ago insured Candy's infidelity would play a major part in the divorce. They promised that the firm's own process server would have Candy served with divorce papers by the middle of the next week.

After he finished the call and put his electronic signature on the form, he and Mary spent the day necking, drinking wine and chilling, listening to music. And, of course, there was lovemaking later that evening.

For Sunday, he thought about booking a table for them at Romanos, but realised that would be a very bad idea, so instead, in consultation with Mary, he booked a table at a new Finnish restaurant in town called Likainen Pieni Reikä. It was nice, but would they dine there again? The jury was still out, to be honest.

Come Monday morning Mary began to realise that she might have made a serious miscalculation in agreeing to arrange a weekend tryst with her colleague, Bob Jones. She'd been intrigued by Bob, a recent transplant from her employer's head office.

He was handsome, smooth, bold and persistent. Other female staff in the office had taken advantage of his sexual services and, when he began targeting Candy, she found his attentions making her panties moist.

Eventually she succumbed to his charms and decided to accept his invitation for a weekend tryst at a cottage he had rented. She realised that as her husband Michael knew almost all of her colleagues, that there stood a good chance of one of them accidentally letting slip something to him, so she decided that honesty would be the best policy.

After all, she thought to herself, "Michael is so easygoing that although he'll be upset at first, I'll be able to bring him round and convince him to forgive me."

However, on the way to the office, sitting in the passenger seat of Bob's Mustang she began feeling somewhat irritated by Bob's arrogance and smug attitude, she realized she had potentially jeopardized her marriage for a weekend of sex that was mainly "meh."

Whilst it was true that Bob had a cock that was both long and wide, that was all he had going for him. He didn't really know how to please a woman, relying on the size of his cock, he had, she mused, all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

As they both walked out of the lift together, she noticed that there was a mixed reaction from her colleagues. Some were tutting, others nodded in approval and smirked, but she noticed that her boss, Amanda Murray, was frowning. Amanda beckoned Candy and took her into her office, closing the door behind them.

As they sat down in the office, Amanda said, "You and Bob? I knew he'd screwed around with some of his single colleagues, but I'm shocked that you of all people would fall for his line of BS. I thought you and Michael had a good marriage, so why risk it for an affair with Bob Jones?"

"For one thing, Amanda, what I do outside work hours is none of your concern. And my marriage with Michael is rock solid, thank you."

"Don't pull that 'outside of work hours' nonsense with me, Candy. If Jones is screwing his way through all my female staff, then that is my concern, because it risks wrecking this division of the company. If only Wayne Driscoll, the owner of the company, hadn't sent that letter to me ordering me to find a position for Jones. But his uncle, Carter Jones, is on the board of directors. That doesn't concern you. Just get back to work, Candy. But this is not over."

Candy left Amanda's office. She felt angry but didn't know if the anger was directed at Amanda, Bob or even herself. He started working, muttering to herself. The fact that Bob was sitting at his desk, looking relaxed and smug, did nothing to improve her mood.

Amanda was behind her desk, contemplating how the unwelcome arrival of Bob Jones several months ago had resulted in her once stable and successful division in the company becoming riven with strife and recriminations as he had been screwing his way through his female colleagues. However, his targeting of Candy, a married colleague, was a new departure for Jones, which she didn't like. She had met Candy's husband, Michael, several times and she liked him as a person and didn't like the thought of Candy hurting him.

She realised that she had to bite the bullet and call the company president and ask him why he had sent her a letter virtually ordering her to allow Bob Jones to move to her division of the company.

She phoned Angela, Wayne's PA, to ask if she could speak to Wayne about Bob Jones.

To her surprise she was put through to Wayne almost instantly. She'd met Wayne on a number of occasions and thought that his British accent was 'cute' although he'd left the UK when he had been 17 and become a US citizen, with a wife called Carol who came from Tennessee.

"Hi, Wayne."

"Hi, Amanda, it's been a long time since we spoke. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, please, Wayne. This is difficult, but is there any way you can rescind your instruction to keep Bob Jones in my division? He's causing so much trouble by screwing his way through half of the female staff, including the married ones, now."

Wayne sounded pissed. "Bob Jones? That asshole? I certainly never instructed you to employ him. How did you come to have him with you?"

"I received a letter about three months ago signed by you telling me that you wanted me to have Bob Jones working in my division of the company."

"Shit, Amanda! I sent no such letter to you. Do you still have the letter? If so, please email it to me as a jpeg. I need to get to the bottom of this. Bob Jones was supposed to be fired for sexual harassment at another of my offices. As soon as I get your email, I'll see what I can find out."

20 minutes later, Wayne Driscoll called back. This time he wasn't just angry, he was enraged. "I think I know who sent you that forged letter. It was Carter Jones who apparently suborned someone in HR to sidetrack his nephew's dismissal, then got him out of our HQ building by dumping him on you with a letter I'm 99% certain Carter Jones himself forged."

"Wayne, I'm so sorry..."

Wayne interrupted her: "Hey! It wasn't your fault. Don't worry, you couldn't have known. I suspected Jones the uncle got into my office and used the Autopen machine to sign my name on the letter he wrote. I want you to fire Bob Jones immediately. If he plays up and raises the name of his uncle, tell Bob that I have fired his uncle, Carter Jones, and personally threw him out of the building. Which I enjoyed, to be honest."

"Wayne, how the heck did you find all that out in less than a half hour? I'm seriously impressed."

Wayne chuckled and said: "I shouted very loudly in HR, and the person who helped Carter Jones to move his nephew suddenly decided to come clean."

Wayne terminated the call, promising Amanda that he'd make a personal visit to address the issues Jones had caused.

Amanda had heard rumors that Wayne Driscoll's temper was slow to develop, but when he blew, everyone knew it.

Amanda put a call in to security before she went out into the main office and said, "Bob, come into my office."

She sat behind her desk, having placed her large and well stuffed but open purse on it.

"Sit down, Bob."

"What can I do for you, Amanda?" he asked. It was funny, but although she knew several female staff members had fallen for his charms, she'd always found him to be greasy rather than smooth.

"You can clear your personal items from your desk, because you are terminated with immediate effect because your actions in forming sexual relationships with single and now married staff is seriously jeopardizing the efficient operation of this office of Driscoll Enterprises."

Jones settled back in his chair and for the first time his smooth, affable mask slipped and Amanda saw him for what he was: an unpleasant, arrogant asshole as Wayne had described him.

"You can't fire me, Mandy," which caused Amanda to bristle.

"Oh, I can, Bobby," retorted Amanda, returning fire. "What makes you think otherwise?"

He sneered "Oh, you know. The fact that my Uncle Carter is on the board of directors and that letter you received from Wayne Driscoll?"

"I just got off the phone with Wayne. He's furious that a trusted director of his board decided to suborn a member of his HR team and also forged a letter in his name. Your uncle has been fired and thrown out of company headquarters, by Wayne himself. Your uncle can't help you, now."

Without warning Jones launched himself toward Amanda, shouting: "I'll kill you, you bitch!" Amanda swiftly grabbed a pepper spray from her already open purse and let him have a full blast. He gasped for breath and pawed at his streaming eyes. For good luck she gave him another squirt before shouting for the security officers to come into her. She asked them to hold Jones for the police, as he had attempted to assault her.

The staff were absolutely horrified by what had happened as they watched the two burly security guards handcuff a screaming and cursing Bob Jones.

Eventually the police arrived, the security guard's handcuffs were swapped for police issue handcuffs and he was taken away by the police under arrest,

The first thought of Candy was, "Now I don't get to have dinner with Bob." Which showed her chaotic and vapid thinking.

Amanda took the decision to close the office and sent everyone home early.

When Candy arrived home, she found the wilted flowers, the letter and the wedding rings. She called Michael and realized her number had been blocked.

She started to cry, but they weren't the tears of a mature, adult woman crying because she had fucked away her own marriage, but the tears of a tantrum throwing, naughty little girl who had been thwarted.

Mid-week, she received the divorce petition along with the prenup paperwork, and she realized she had not only screwed the pooch but had also, metaphorically speaking, fucked every other canine in the dog pound.

The judge sniggered to himself when her lawyer suggested marital counselling, and the divorce was granted with the full weight of the prenup being like the chains that weighed poor Bob Marley down in Charles Dickens' story "A Christmas Carol."

One tiny bright spot was that after an internal probe (to coin an expression), it was decided to consider Bob Jones a sexual predator and his willing, but essentially pretty dumb squeezes as "victims." Yeah. Right.

Michael and Mary continued living together as brother and sister with benefits, and as for Bob and his uncle Carter, Wayne Driscoll made sure they lived crappily ever after.