February Sucks, But You'll Miss It - Ch. 03

This is a continuation of the "February Sucks, But You'll Miss It" series, which was a takeoff from George Anderson's "February Sucks". To understand it, please read the original and previous chapters in the series. George Anderson's story can be found here:

An additional chapter is in the works, and I will finish the series eventually, if I live long enough. There is a little bit of sex in this, but mostly for laughs. Thanks to all for comments on my previous efforts. :-)

LATER THAT DAY (March 1st)

***

Linda finished getting the house back in order while Jim was picking up the kids. She threw together a salad and heated up spaghetti, so dinner was almost ready when the kids burst through the door with Jim close behind.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Tommy shouted, grabbing Linda around the legs as she stood in front of the stove.

"Careful, Tommy, I don't want to spill hot spaghetti sauce all over you. Now go sit and we'll have dinner." She rumpled his hair and pushed him towards the dining room table. Emma and Jim were already seated there. Emma was chattering about their day at Mrs. Porter's house.

"We played games all this morning and then we helped Mrs. Porter make chocolate chip cookies. It was real easy, Dad."

"I hope she didn't let you eat all the cookies," Jim said, smiling.

.

"No, just one each. They were big cookies. Did you and Mom have fun?"

"You bet we did, sweetheart!" Jim said, with a gleam in his eye. "You'll find out when you grow. up. There is nothing more fun than a night of dancing and staying at a fancy hotel. Isn't that right, honey?"

Linda blushed and didn't answer, dishing out the spaghetti. She was subdued throughout the meal, but Jim was more talkative than usual, wanting the kids to explain details of every game they played and every show they watched at Mrs. Porter's. He seemed positively bubbly, and Linda wondered why. Did that hooker really make him so happy?

While Linda was cleaning the kitchen, Jim took the kids upstairs and settled them down for the night, reading stories and answering questions about the stories until they nodded off. Then Linda could hear him brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He came out of the bathroom and smiled down the stairs at her.

"It's been a pretty long night and day for both of us," he said. "I don't know about you, but I'm pooped and I think I'll turn in. Good night, hon."

Linda wanted to say something, but she didn't know exactly what. Jim turned and went into the bedroom before she could answer. She was tired but agitated, and knew she wouldn't be able to sleep for a while. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat at the kitchen table to think.

Linda remembered the one time in her life when she stole something. It happened when she was in college. She was low on money one Saturday night, so she shoplifted a pint of vodka from a grocery store, shoving it into her purse. She took it back to her dorm room and drank it with her roommate. They mixed it with orange juice and got really drunk. Somehow they started necking and fondling each other's breasts, then they masturbated together. Linda always told herself that one stolen bottle didn't make her a thief, and one makeout session with a girl didn't make her a lesbian. So a single night in the bed of a handsome celebrity surely didn't make her a loose woman, and should not seriously harm her marriage. That was what she told herself when she was sneaking out the door with LaVallierre. But it looked like her action had caused a reaction, and not the one she expected. Instead of acting the jealous husband, Jim was like a horny young skirt chaser, and a smart-ass to boot. She had never seen this side of him, and hoped it was nothing more than an act to get back at her. Linda had expected that Jim would reclaim her with a few nights of makeup sex. Now it looked more like she was the one who needed to do the reclaiming, to make her husband forget that filthy whore.

***

I was halfway asleep on my right side when I felt Linda slip into the bed. After the way she was ragging on me earlier, it would not have been a surprise if she slept on the sofa downstairs, but she slid right up behind me and I could feel her naked body against my back. She reached around and fondled my cock through my underwear. The last round with Kandy had left me tired and fucked out, but it was pleasant to have my newly slutty wife try to reacquaint herself with my equipment. I turned over on my back and let her fondle my nuggets while she laid her head against my chest and rubbed her pussy against my leg. Her modest-sized tits were squashed against me and I tried to appreciate them in their own right, without making any unfavorable comparison to the bombshells I had enjoyed that afternoon. But the blood wasn't flowing and my head wasn't in it. I had a feeling that Linda was doing this to prove something, and there was another nagging doubt at the back of my mind.

"Make love to me, Jim?" she murmured.

I murmured back "Honey, maybe we should call it a night and hold off on the, uh, intimacy for awhile."

Her hand withdrew from my balls and her body relaxed. She didn't really want to do anything tonight any more than I did.

"So how about tomorrow night? I'll be ready to rock you by then." She sounded more tired than sexy, but I appreciated the effort.

"Sure, we'll see. But I was just thinking, were you safe last night?"

"Was I safe? He didn't hit me or anything."

Linda preferred euphemisms and I didn't want her to get mad again, so I tried to make a joke of it.

"What I mean is, how did Mister Marc park his pork? Did he wear a hat? Jacket? Raincoat? Sausage casing? Was it California rolls or raw sushi?"

Linda had drawn back and, while I could not see her face in the dark, I was pretty sure she was looking at me like I was crazy. "What on earth are you talking about, Jim?"

Linda wasn't usually this slow on the uptake. I wanted to keep things light, but couldn't help the sarcasm seeping into my tone.

"Okay, I am assuming that your paramour ejaculated into your body several times last night and this morning. There is no need to tell me if he came up with some new orifice a guy like me would never dream of. The question is, did he use condoms or some other form of protection?"

"Condoms? Why would we need condoms? You know I'm on the pill."

For some reason, she still wasn't getting it. We didn't use condoms and it was possible Linda had never even seen one up close.

"It isn't pregnancy I am worried about. Face it, you did swap fluids with a cockhound who probably has a different groupie every night. The asshole could be carrying some kind of cooties."

Linda gave a disgusted snort and rolled over, turning her back to me.

***

TUESDAY (March 4th)

The plastic chairs in the waiting room were probably designed to be uncomfortable. It wasn't supposed to be a place to hang out. Linda sat glumly, trying not to look around at the two dozen other people in the room. They were mostly younger singles of both genders, just as you would expect. Jim was relaxed, leafing through a battered copy of Sports Illustrated. The kids were back in school and they had both taken a long lunch hour from work.

When Linda realized what Jim was suggesting, her first reaction was anger and disbelief. Why should he suspect her of sexually transmitted health issues, when he was the one who had sex with a prostitute? But Jim was insistent. He said it was just to be safe, and cheerfully agreed to get himself checked too. When Linda refused to go to their family doctor for such an embarrassing reason, Jim said he would figure something out. So here they were in the county public health department's VD clinic, surrounded by strangers. It was first come, first served, so they had to sign up and wait their turn, after filling out forms full of embarrassing questions. They had been waiting almost an hour.

Linda caught a glimpse of a familiar face when a young man entered the room. Oh god, please don't let him see me! She grabbed a copy of Good Housekeeping and tried to hide her face, but it was too late. There was Ronnie, a junior clerk from her office, standing right in front of her. He was a well-dressed guy with a neat goatee, smiling and friendly. Everybody at work knew Ronnie was gay and proud of it.

"Why Linda, so nice to see you! Is this handsome devil your husband?"

"Jim, this is Ronnie," Linda mumbled. Jim gave him a firm handshake and said he was glad to meet him.

"I'm afraid I caught a new strain of something," Ronnie said, grinning ruefully. "You know, itch and burn. A little too much partying, I guess. What brings you guys here?"

"Oh, erm, it's a family planning matter, just a checkup" Linda said, blushing furiously.

"Well, that is interesting! I didn't know they offered that kind of thing here." Ronnie was shaking his head in amazement. Just then the nurse called Jim and Linda, so they were able to break off the conversation. "We never should have come here!" Linda hissed, as they headed to the examination room. Jim just smiled and nodded.

"How can I help you?" The physician was a young hippie-looking guy with thick glasses and a long beard. His manner was completely neutral and professional, but Linda couldn't help feeling exposed before his beady eyes. She was sure he was smirking at her. His question hung there, and Linda didn't know what to say. Finally Jim spoke up.

"We just opened up our marriage, and we want to be sure we haven't caught anything from our new partners. You know, the drip or whatever."

Linda was shocked to hear him say it out loud, but the doctor was unfazed. "Do you have any symptoms? Sores? Painful urination?"

"Of course not!" Linda said, too sharply. Jim just said he hadn't noticed anything.

"Have you both had multiple partners?"

Jim said yes before Linda could say no. She didn't like the word "multiple". It was only one and it hardly counted.

"The best thing is to take samples from both of you. Urine specimens, swabs and a little bit of blood. We can check for the most common infections and have the results in a few days."

Linda felt a rising sense of panic, but he called in a female nurse to take samples from her in a separate room. She was thoroughly humiliated as she laid back on the exam table with her panties off while the nurse swabbed her pussy and rectum, putting each swab in a separate container. But the nurse was chirpy and cheerful; clearly this was no big deal to her. She asked for "some weewee water in the cup, dear". After swabbing Linda's throat, she jabbed her arm for a blood sample and sent her back to join Jim and the doctor. They were already done taking Jim's samples.

"If the tests show any problem, we will call you to come back. We will also mail the result. If you don't hear from us, the tests are all negative but you can always ask for written confirmation."

Jim said, "Hey man, that's great! If we get negative letters we can frame them and put them in our trophy case!" This got a laugh from the medic but Linda didn't think it was funny.

"Viral infections like HIV can take much longer to show up so you should consider coming back in a month or two for a recheck. In the meantime be sure to practice safe sex."

He handed them a brochure titled "Practicing Safe Sex." He winked and said "Of course the safest sex is no sex at all. Or ..." He made a jerking off motion with his hand. "Gotcha!" Jim said, as Linda cringed.

On the way to their car, Linda grumbled "That was a waste of time! Ronnie will blab it all over the office that he saw me here. I'm his boss!"

"You saw him here, so you're even."

"Like he would care!" But Linda wasn't just worried about what Ronnie would say. She didn't see herself as the kind of person who would ever need an STI check. How did it come to this?

***

Back at work, Linda was not surprised when she heard the knock on her office door. It was Ronnie, of course, but he seemed unusually subdued. She had always liked Ronnie. His brassy, offbeat humor lifted her mood during a day at the office, and he was good at his job. Now he appeared almost bashful. She had him close the door and sit down.

"Linda, I just wanted to apologize if I offended you at the clinic today. Sometimes my mouth is ahead of my mind. I probably should have left you and your husband alone."

"There is no need to apologize. You were just being friendly, I know."

"Yeah, but it probably wasn't cool to announce my infection in front of the whole room. I know you and your beautiful man were there for family planning, and probably didn't expect to run into a screaming slut like me."

"Oh, Ronnie, please don't run yourself down! We're all only human and you didn't offend me at all."

Ronnie was actually sniffling a little and looked as if he might cry. She handed him a box of tissues. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

"I just want to tell you, Ronnie, you have been doing a great job here and everyone in the office likes you. Just keep it up and you will go far as long as I have anything to say about it."

Ronnie's face lit up. "Linda, it is so sweet of you to say that. I know we're just talking business but it means a lot to me!"

Linda's mood was much improved by Ronnie's guileless enthusiasm. "Listen, Ronnie, why don't we go out to lunch tomorrow? It's on me so we don't have to talk about work."

"Oh my god, Linda! That would be great!"

Ronnie was bubbling over with good cheer as he accepted, thanking her profusely. When he stood up to go, he struck a pose and declaimed in a rich baritone voice,

"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,"

Linda was thrilled to hear some of her favorite lines from William Butler Yeats. Before Ronnie could continue, she chimed in,

"And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made."

Ronnie was astonished. "Oh my god, Linda, you know poetry?"

"I studied English literature in college. But there weren't a lot of English lit jobs when I graduated so here I am."

They compared notes on similar career paths. It turned out Ronnie had a master's degree in comparative literature. They would have plenty to talk about. Ronnie left her with a smile, and she looked forward to lunch with him.

***

When Dee called that evening, Linda was surprised she had not heard from her sooner. Of course Dee would want to hear the juicy details about Marc LaVallierre, if there were any. As it happened, Dee was just the person Linda wanted to talk to.

"So how was your night with Mister Big? I would have called Saturday but Jim seemed pretty pissed off and I thought you needed time to calm him down."

Linda thought about making up something about how great it was but she didn't have the heart. It already seemed like years ago.

"Mister Big was all right, but Jim is weird. You won't believe what he did."

"Moved into the basement? Changed the locks? Called you a slut?'

"No. He picked up a whore at the hotel and then brought her back to our house. Screwed her in MY bed so I could hear them doing it!"

Linda chuckled. "You ARE kidding, right?"

"I'm dead serious. He even asked me if I wanted to join in."

"Oh. My. God! Did you do it?"

"Of course not! What do you think I am?"

Dee laughed. "Oh Jesus, I always thought you and Jim were Mister and Missus Morals. I wish I could get Dave to be that loose!"

Dee didn't sound very sympathetic and Linda was getting irritated.

"It's not funny, Dee. I knew going off with Marc might cause some strain with Jim but I never dreamed it would blow up like this. And it's your fault. You told me to do it."

"Oh, come off it! I told you to go for it if you wanted to, but it was all your idea. We were all surprised that you would go through with it. It was more like something I would do."

It was more like something Dee would do, until now. They had known each other since they were teenagers, and Dee was almost like Linda's evil twin. Linda thought back to their high school yearbook. Her own picture showed a flat-chested, serious girl with her hair in a bun, smiling uncertainly into the future. She was still a virgin when she graduated. Dee's picture was the opposite -- saucy, smirking, with a budding rack showing under her sweater. She was known as the blowjob queen of her class, and not shy about it. They were friends because they were opposites. Linda the honor student helped Dee with her studies. Dee helped Linda to understand boys, although it wasn't until the night of the senior prom that Linda gave her first blowjob. That first one wasn't a total success, but Dee encouraged her to keep trying. After all, Dee told her, there was no such thing as a bad blowjob. Ask any high school boy about it. With pointers from Dee, Linda eventually got to be pretty good at blowjobs. Now she was in uncharted territory with Jim and Dee wasn't much help when she needed pointers on her marriage.

"Did you at least give him some good do-over sex?" Dee asked.

"Not yet. It would feel a little creepy after he's been with another woman."

"Look in the mirror, Miss Priss. You were with another man. I'd say you just have to grit your teeth and get back in the saddle. Is he really mad?"

"No, he seems happy. The kids think it's great that he's so full of energy. But he talks kind of dirty when they're not around, and I think he's been watching porn in the basement."

"Jim talking dirty, wow! Maybe you did a good thing. You might give me some ideas about how to handle Dave, so keep me posted."

Hanging up, Linda wondered if she should keep her posted. Dee was her oldest friend, but Linda sometimes thought of her as a bad influence. It made Linda feel weird to think she might be a bad influence on Dee for a change. There was no point in telling her about the STI tests. That was none of Dee's business.

***

WEDNESDAY, March 5th

Linda took Ronnie to The Soup & Salad Joynt, a downtown place she often frequented for business lunches. This could be called team building if she wanted to stretch the concept, but she wasn't putting it on the expense account. She needed somebody to talk to, but wasn't sure how candid she could be without crossing a line. After all, Ronnie was her subordinate, so it wouldn't be appropriate to tell him she had gonorrhea, even if he suspected it. She hoped they could be friends, if not confidants.

They went over their personal history, and it turned out Ronnie had studied at the same university just a few years behind Linda. They had some of the same professors and they shared an interest in poetry of the 19th century. They liked a lot of the same poets: Wordsworth, Shelley, Oscar Wilde and Yeats.

Linda could sense that something other than poetry was on Ronnie's mind, and he wanted to talk about it. Once they ordered, she started to feel awkward, not knowing what to say. She wanted to put him at ease, but hoped he wouldn't start talking about venereal disease. Soon Ronnie saved things by baring his soul. To her relief, the source of his agitation had nothing to do with sex. That morning he had been tasked with laying an employee off, and it really bothered him. He started pouring his heart out in a voice that was a little too loud.

"The poor guy! He has a mortgage and two little kids. His wife is a schoolteacher and they were barely getting by. Now we dropped this on him. I don't even know why we had to fire him. He had ten years in and his performance was fine. We have openings for new hires in the same department. Why get rid of the experienced people?"

Linda looked around to make sure nobody from the office was nearby.

"Sometimes that's just how it is, Ronnie. It's part of the job. People are let go for business reasons, and office politics. To be honest, the people who make these decisions don't always know what they're doing. Please don't quote me on that. If we spot an ethical problem, we can try to raise a flag about it, but otherwise we just have to deliver the bad news as compassionately as possible."

"Sure Linda, I get that. Sometimes I'm so compassionate it's all I can do not to cry. But if I have to advise one more laid off person to embrace change, I may start screaming!"

Linda knew just what he meant. Everybody in their department had to take the class on how to lay people off, and they were fed a lot of stock phrases to use. The idea was to get the victim to feel like this was an opportunity for growth, change was good, and freedom to experiment was a big upside to losing your job. Only creeps and sadists really bought into the double-think, but they all had to go through the motions of believing the corporate line. She hesitated to express her real feelings, but Ronnie knew no such restraint.

"Linda, honestly, don't you think that sort of language is dehumanizing and degrading? We are not just firing people from their jobs, we are damaging ourselves with those empty words. We are murdering the language to serve the corporation. Words have power. Do you remember this poem?

Tis a strange mystery, the power of words!

Life is in them, and death. A word can send

The crimson colour hurrying to the cheek,

Hurrying with many meanings; or can turn

The current cold and deadly to the heart.

What the poem doesn't mention is how some words can make your eyes glaze over with their hollowness and stupidity, words that don't have life or death in them. And those are the kind of barren words we are expected to say to people when we give them the gate."

The poem sounded familiar but Linda couldn't place it. She looked off into space, struck by Ronnie's passion. It wasn't so long ago she came out of college with her brand new English degree, summa cum laude. Her head was full of poetry and lofty ideals. Then before she knew it, she was married with children and the reality of the job market sank in. She ended up doing this for a living. Looking closely at Ronnie, she said in a low voice, "Please don't tell anyone I said so, but I couldn't agree with you more."

They turned to lighter topics as they ate their salads, but Linda was happy with the feeling that they had come together on something she never shared with anyone else. She was not alone.

***

When I got home from work, I found Linda at the kitchen table. She had a stack of old books, probably from boxes in the garage. She didn't notice me coming in and she was reading aloud from one of the books.

" I see the boys of summer in their ruin

Lay the gold tithings barren..."

And so on. I stopped to watch and listen for awhile. She was squinting at the book through her reading glasses, and she looked so earnest and so cute that I wanted to slip up behind her and put my arms around her, but I was afraid of spoiling her mood. Then she saw me, snapped the book closed, and rushed over to the kitchen stove.

"Dinner will be ready soon," she said.

I walked by the table and glanced at the book she had been reading. Dylan Thomas. She used to talk about that guy a lot. I wondered what was up with her.

***

TUESDAY, March 11th (The following week)

Linda was sitting at the kitchen table again when I got home. She said, "Jim, we need to talk." There was an envelope on the table this time, no books. I sat down across from her. She looked grim. It was just what I needed after a day at the office. Expecting a happy evening, and now this. Her mood shifts were starting to get to me.

I said, "What the hell now, Linda, a divorce? I thought we were okay. Are you going out with that asshole again? Or some other asshole? You know you have my blessing to do whatever you want." Linda shook her head, hardly listening.

"Did the clinic ever call you, Jim?"

"The clap shack? Nah, I guess I'm clean. Oh, you mean..."

She slid the envelope across to me. I opened and read the letter. It wasn't funny, but it was hard to keep from laughing. My lovely, Hallmark wife, the mother of my children, had vaginal gonorrhea. Putting on a serious face, I said "Well, honey, it's not the end of the world."

Linda was about to cry. "How did we get to this? I thought you were just making me take that test to irritate me. How come you don't have it, and I do? It's just not fair."

I almost told her to file a complaint with the VD equity board, but thought better of it.

"Did they give you some pills?"

"Yes, but I'm getting a discharge and some burning down there. It started today."

"Don't worry. That will clear right up with the meds."

She gave me a questioning look and I nodded.

"Been there, done that. I had more than one dose of the clap before we met, and a few other problems down below. It's lucky you didn't get the crabs while you were at it. Those crotch crickets will drive you crazy."

Now she looked shocked. "Jim, how did that happen? I thought you were a nice, straight guy when we started dating."

"Sure, but I was also a horny college student who would boink anything that walked, if it had the right plumbing. Please note, I avoided using the f word just now. Anyway, neither of us were virgins, right?"

"But now you're telling me I married a whoremaster!" Her voice was rising.

"Not exactly a master, maybe just an apprentice."

Linda gave me her hard glare, a look I was getting a lot lately. She had gone from sad to pissed off, which seemed to be her full range of emotion these days. I got up and went upstairs to change out of my work clothes. There was no point in giving her the good news, about my raise and the fuckpad I had rented that afternoon.

***

On the drive to work that morning I noticed they had reopened the old Marriott Residence Inn down the street from my office building. There was a banner that said "Under New Management! Affordable Suites! Newly remodeled!" The name was now "Camelott Residence Inn" and they had changed the sign as little as possible. The font for the new letters "Camel" didn't quite match the old ones for "ott". We used to have visiting employees stay there before it stopped being a Marriott. I had been in some of the rooms and thought they were nice enough, so I made a mental note.

My secretary Judy gave me the word that Mr. Wentworth wanted to see me. Usually it was not good news to get called into the boss's office, but 15 minutes later I came out feeling like I wanted to sing. Wentworth was giving me a substantial raise and the promise of a promotion in the near future. My job was mostly a matter of meeting with clients and pushing digital paper around, but apparently I was doing it well. It was a dull job, but it gave me a boost to hear some positive words. The money would be even better than the words.

After lunch, I walked over to the Camelott Residence Inn and found the manager at the front desk. It was Raj, a familiar face. He used to work the front desk at my company, always a nice guy, but I hadn't seen him in awhile. He grinned when he saw me.

"Raj, what are you doing here? Moonlighting?"

"Ah no, Mister Jim White, I have bought this place. What you see here belongs to me and my family. They gave me a pretty good package when I got laid off, so my relatives and I pooled our money. We are now the Camelott Inn." He was beaming with pride, arms spread to show the extent of his new kingdom.

"Sorry to hear about the layoff, but it looks like you landed on your feet. So what have you done here? Was it a big remodel?"

Raj looked a little embarrassed. "Ah, please to forgive some tiny exaggeration in the advertising, my wife's idea. A little paint and some new towels, but that's about all for now. We are still touching things up."

I could hear the sound of power tools down the hall. Raj offered to show me a suite, and I figured why not? It looked just like any furnished Marriott suite -- a small bedroom with a king bed, living room with a sofa, wide screen TV, a kitchenette and a cultured marble bathroom. It was very clean. Raj pointed out that the mattress and bedding were new.

"What's the rate on this?" I asked.

"Would you be needing the corporate rate?"

"It would be for personal use," I said. "Sometimes I'd like a place to crash after working late. Maybe a little quiet entertainment once in awhile. You know how it is."

"But of course," Raj said, smirking. "Well, Mister Jim, you would be our very first customer and, since I know your fine character, I will give you our very best introductory rate. Thirty five dollars a night, one hundred eighty a week. That is more than a fifty percent discount, so please keep it under your hat."

"How about a monthly rate?"

"Three seventy-five, payment in advance. But please to tell no one. And in return, we will exercise the utmost discretion about your comings and goings." He probably could guess what I wanted the room for.

Then Raj explained the amenities. Except for free cable and wifi, there weren't any. No breakfast buffet, no housekeeping, and the pool was closed until further notice. It sounded perfect for my purposes. Feeling expansive, I took the room for a month and walked out with two keycards. At the drugstore down the block I bought a twelve pack of condoms, a sixpack of beer, some mixed nuts and microwave popcorn. I brought these back to the room and stashed them. That was just to mark my territory. More stuff could be brought in later. Looking at myself in the bedroom mirror, I liked what I saw. Mister Jim White was in the groove and on the way up. I headed back to the office with a spring in my step. The good mood stayed with me until I got home and saw Linda with her envelope.

***

Linda felt like shit, even before the conversation with Jim. Her stomach was churning and the burn in her urinary tract was a constant reminder of the disgusting infection she had contracted. They were quiet until bedtime, when she had to say something. The kids were tucked in and Linda was bringing some towels out of the linen closet.

She said, "Jim, I'm going to sleep on the sofa tonight."

Jim was offended. "Why, because you think I'm a whoremaster?"

"No, it's these damned antibiotics. I feel like I could have diarrhea any minute and I'm going to be up all night going to the bathroom. I don't want to keep you awake."

Jim softened. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. You should have said something. I'll take the sofa tonight and you take the bedroom, so you can get to the bathroom easily. It's too bad we don't have a guest room. Maybe someday soon we'll get a bigger place."

Linda thought he was giving her a significant look but she didn't know what it meant. She was about to thank him when her bowels rumbled and she had to hurry up to the master bathroom after throwing the towels on the bed. By the time she came back downstairs, she found Jim tucking himself in with a comforter on the living room sofa.

"Good night, Jim," she said in a forlorn voice.

"Good night, Linda," Jim said, "You will get better, I promise. It's just the clap."

Linda was feeling a little better as she lay down on two thick towels to protect the mattress. She at least felt less bloated now. But sleep evaded her. For the hundredth time she asked herself what had possessed her to go off with Marc LaVallierre that night. He was an impressive physical specimen and he was famous, but she really never cared about football or fame, and it wasn't like her to bang someone just because he was a good dancer. Dee and Jane and her other girlfriends saw him as a big deal, but Linda always thought she was different from them. She liked sensitive guys who could talk about interesting things. Jim was like that, or used to be, while her conversation with LaVallierre was like talking to a tree stump with a big ego. She was coming to the uncomfortable realization that the main reason she went with Marc was because all of her friends wanted him. That made him seem like a prize that was too good to turn down. It was like winning the lottery, or so it seemed at the time. But instead of lottery money, she had won an infected pussy and a messed up marriage. Not only did she make herself a slut, she had apparently unleashed Jim's inner horndog in the process. She was amazed at her own stupidity.

***

MONDAY, March 17th

Linda had been out of commission with the clap since last week, and I was getting horny. Hard-ons tormented me all through the work day, making it difficult to concentrate. It was long past time for me to initiate my suite at the Camelott Inn. That left me with the question of who to initiate it with. Or should I say, with whom to initiate it? Anyway...

I sometimes thought my secretary Judy was flirting with me, nothing too obvious but she smiled a lot. She was a divorcee, a little on the hefty side, but still not bad to look at. I considered asking her over to the fuckpad one night, but it seemed like a bad idea even if she went for it. We had to work together, and while she was reasonably attractive, I didn't think it would be anything more than a mediocre fuck that we would probably both want to forget. Also, I suspected Wentworth had his eye on her, and I didn't want to get into a skirt chasing contest with my supervisor. So I ruled Judy out. The only other woman I could think of who might be available on short notice was Kandy. We exchanged a text, and she penciled me in for the evening. She couldn't stay overnight, but that was okay by me. Even with the raise, it wasn't like I was made of money. A couple of hours with her would be an economical way to get my pipes cleaned.

Then I called Linda at her office to feel things out. First I asked her if she could pick up the kids from school, since I would be late. She agreed to that. Then I asked if she had anything special planned for dinner, and she said she was just going to heat something up. I got to the point.

"Here's the deal, honey. It's over two weeks since I had any pussy, and horns are growing out of my horns. Tonight--"

She interrupted before I could finish, sounding snippy. "Jim, you know I can't do anything until I finish the medication. You'll have to wait another week or two, maybe longer if you don't adjust your attitude."

My attitude! So much for playing it by ear. "No worries, wifey dear, I don't want to be a burden on you. This is just a courtesy call to tell you that I lined up some action and don't expect to make it home before tomorrow."

"Jim, what? Are you crazy? You can't just throw that in my face!"

"Not throwing it in your face, just giving you a heads up, like the one you didn't give me about that asshole jock. It's not taking anything away from you except for maybe a boring dinnertime conversation. Tomorrow afternoon I'll be home and we'll get back to our regular routine. Honestly, it won't be a big deal."

"No, this is not acceptable. Just who do you think you're going with, some stranger? And where?"

"It's not a stranger, you met Kandy so you know I'll be in good safe hands. She's not going to infect me like the asshole did to you. Also I meant to tell you, I rented a fu-, a suite that is, for this kind of recreation, since you don't want me doing it at home again. It will be good for both of us. Once your clap is cleared up, you can bring your boyfriends there when I'm not using it."

"Jim, no! I don't have any boyfriends! You can't just go out and spend our money on whores and a secret lovenest!"

"Not a secret, since I just told you about it. Oh and here's another piece of good news, I got a big raise and a promotion is coming up, so we'll have no problem covering the, uh, lovenest or whatever you want to call it. Pretty soon we can think about buying a bigger house."

Linda got very quiet at that, so I told her I had to get back to work and rang off. It wasn't a negotiation, so I didn't want to haggle with her. Of course she was surprised, but I had done it right, sticking to our new policy of open, honest communications.

***

After a light dinner out, I was waiting at my Camelott Inn fuckpad when Kandy knocked on the door. When I let her in I was pleased at how discreetly she was dressed. She still had the killer figure, but looked like a librarian with a granny skirt and heavy sweater, thick glasses and flat lace-up shoes. She carried a small overnight bag.

"Nice place you got here, Jimmy," she said, and stripped down to some lacy see-through underwear. She stashed the clothes and shoes in the closet and turned to me, starting to take off the glasses.

"You want me to put on some fuck-me heels? Got them right here in my bag."

"No thanks, Kandy. You are tall and lovely enough without them. Leave the glasses on, though. They kind of give you a sexy schoolteacher vibe."

"You got it, boss. The truth is, I mislaid my contacts and the glasses are not a prop. I actually can't see very well without them."

"The better to see me with," I said, dropping my pants and briefs. My cock stood out stiff as a board.

"You are happy to see me, aren't you?" she said. "I know that's a cliché but what the hell. There are only so many ways to talk about being horny."

With nothing more to say to that, I took off my shirt and socks. Pretty soon I had Kandy bent over the kitchen table and I was pulling her thong down her legs. There was no need to hurry. It wasn't like the frenzied pace of the last time, catching up to my Linda's unexpected debauch. Let's just see what we have here. I studied her ass and pussy. The heart shape was very beautiful, and her pussy lips were perfectly formed and balanced. The healthy pink of her sex complemented the alabaster globes of her ass perfectly. The whole package was so much bigger than I was used to, almost like an enlarged version of my wife. Kandy was a goddess, and made me feel small, but not in a bad way. Mother Nature might sometimes share her body with a horny little forest creature like me. Cherubs with wings would fly around us, giggling and watching. That was my fantasy of the moment.

Kandy said "So are you just going to look at it or what? Not that I'm complaining. You are the customer."

My fingers ran up her slit, feeling excellent moisture. She moaned a little. If it was fake, she was good at faking. I reached across the table to get my 12 pack of condoms and fumbled it open.

"Good man," Kandy said. "I brought my own rubbers but we can use yours if you want, as long as it's a name brand of latex that won't break."

"Plain old Trojans," I said, "Might as well use mine up first. Twelve should be enough to last us at least until midnight."

"Big talk, Jimmy. Let's see what you've got."

I tore open one of the rubbers and rolled it onto my erection. Then I noticed a problem. The table was so high and Kandy's legs were so long that her cunt was a good six or eight inches above my dick. Even if she bent her knees, it would be hard to stick it in her. Standing on tiptoes, I rubbed my cockhead against her pussy. She liked that, or pretended to, groaning and reaching back to finger her clit. My position on my toes was awkward and even if I achieved penetration it would be difficult for me to move Mister Johnson in and out. I thought about standing on something to do her, a box or a footstool. Catching sight of myself in the full-length mirror across the room, it was impossible not to laugh. There I was, naked, balanced on my toes with my rubber-coated stiffy pointing up, trying to mount this Amazon. I looked ridiculous. The thought of standing on a box to do it made me laugh even more.

"Anything wrong, Jimmy?"

"Guess I'm just a little too short." Kandy squinted back at me and down at my dick and joined my laughter. "You're not too short, I'm too long. We'll fix that," she said. She got up and walked over to the bed and bent over the side of it with her knees on the carpeted floor. I positioned myself behind her, hands on her fabulous ass. This was just about right. I may have felt small around Kandy but my iron pecker wasn't intimidated, and was now level with the target. Here we go, one more time, I'm about to have carnal relations with Mother Earth! Or was it Mother Nature? Never mind, you get the idea...

***

Linda hit her low point that night. The kids were asleep and she was drinking wine, probably not a good idea with the antibiotics, but she didn't care. She tried to call Jim back but it went to voicemail. Anyway, what more was there to say? She was out of the sexual action and her husband was balling his hooker again.

Linda knew she was capable of self-awareness, but it seemed as if the faculty had been inactive for the past few days. Now her life was going off the rails, and she needed to understand why. Getting pissed at Jim was pointless. He shed her anger like water off a duck's back.

She was supposed to be good at empathy, as that was part of her job. Reading people, understanding their body language, making them comfortable within the corporate shell, she had to do that everyday at the office. And she liked her job when she was delivering the good news, the encouragement, the sincere advice to employees who had a future. It was possible to feel like a human being and speak with genuine feeling. She liked the work a lot less when she had to tell somebody bad news, that they weren't making it, that it was nothing personal, just a business decision, what was good for the team, a team they no longer had a place in. More often than not, the employee getting the ax was in no way to blame. She was supposed to mollify them with chirpy lines like, "You are now free to meet your future head-on." There was nothing very genuine about those words. At lunch last week, Ronnie had talked about the horror it caused him when he had to lay somebody off. Linda knew that horror all too well.

Now she thought about the words she planned to say to Jim when she came back from her night with Marc LaVallierre. To be honest with herself, she had to admit they were a bunch of cliches picked up somewhere, much like the empty corporate phrases of her worst days at work: "It was just one night." "It was only sex." "It didn't mean anything." "It had nothing to do with our marriage." What was the "It" in these sentences? With revulsion she had a flashback to the athlete's too-large cock pumping in and out of her pussy and mouth. There was no way to sugarcoat it. "It" was nothing but sweaty, animal sex. She had fucked the guy with a capital F, and vice versa. Much as she disliked the f word, there were times when it was the most fitting term to use. The memory of LaVallierre's body disgusted her now. The very idea of sex disgusted her, just thinking of the act seemed to intensify the burning in her pussy.

She wasn't sure where Jim was coming from, but maybe he really was trying to communicate honestly. If their marriage were to survive, it would take the power of words to save it. They might never get back into that safe bubble that was all about cherishing each other in wholesome family moments, and "making love" in PG-rated terms. But she tried looking on the bright side. It made her furious that Jim was with a prostitute, but things could have been worse. He was just getting laid, paying for it, not looking to replace her, at least not yet. If she wanted Jim back, she probably wouldn't get him by making love. She needed to fuck him good and hard. In word and deed.

***

After I had filled the condom with a nice big load of splooge, Kandy and I climbed onto the bed and I lay on top of her with my head between her massive breasts. I felt like a little puppy, and it wasn't a bad feeling, but I started thinking about my wife. It was not the hippest thing to do, but I couldn't help making a comparison. Kandy's body was way different from Linda's, but I had to admit it was a tossup when it came to their pussies. In both cases, the tight, lippy ring seemed to have a mind of its own, milking my dick into the most exquisite sensations. Somehow, both women had a gift for subtle sexual rhythm, with perfectly timed vaginal contractions to maximize my pleasure. In my experience, this was a rare ability. Making allowances for the Trojan sausage casing, both women had about the same gripping power in their love channels. I had to hand it to my wife. The fact that she could use her body to please me to a level that was on par with a top professional like Kandy was quite impressive. It brought home to me with renewed clarity something I had known for years. Linda was an outstanding piece of ass. If only we could communicate without getting pissed off at each other.

"Penny for your thoughts, Jim? You're looking a little spaced out there."

"Just thinking about my wife. We're having some issues."

"How is Linda? You can tell me about her if you want."

"Is that a normal part of your job, talking about guys' wives?"

"You'd be surprised, Jim. Some men, that's all they want to do. They don't even take my clothes off. Here's the thing: you know I'm studying psychology. Someday I'll be a counselor and maybe a sex therapist. You paid me to get your rocks off, but if you want, we can do some counseling on the side. It's good practice for me, and no charge for you."

I smirked at her. "You already charged me quite a bit."

Kandy laughed. "Sure, but you're paying for the pussy, not the psych stuff. And you get what you pay for, so be forewarned. I'm not licensed and might not know what I'm doing."

"Sounds like a fair deal," I said.

On our first date, I had only told Kandy that my wife suddenly opened up our marriage and I was going with the flow. Now I gave her the whole story: ten years of straight marriage with two kids and a wholesome family life. Complete monogamy until the night she sneaked off with Marc LaVallierre. I was trying to keep the tone light, but soon my face was in a frown and my voice was full of irritation.

Leaning up on my elbow now, I was staring at Kandy's tits while I talked about the events leading up to our first meeting at the Madison Hotel.

Kandy said, "I could tell there was something pent up inside you when I came into your room. You really put it to me that first time, and it was great, but I wondered what was going on in your head. How did that make you feel, when Linda and her friends tricked you that way?"

I was back in that moment now, with Dee talking shit about Linda's undying love for me while she was off to her fuckfest, and the rest of our idiot friends laughing along with it.

"It made me feel like a fool," I said. "I was outraged, hurt, humiliated, and wanted to kill my slut wife and her asshole boyfriend!"

I was looking Kandy in her bespectacled eyes now, and she didn't look like an oversized fucktoy anymore. She looked like my confessor. I knew I could tell her anything.

"But that last part isn't quite true," I said. "I didn't really want to kill anybody, not even myself. I just wanted to check out, for the world to stop and go black. Just not to have to deal with anything serious, ever again."

My voice was back to that horrible drone of self pity I had heard when looking myself in the mirror at the hotel. How I hated that whining voice!

Kandy got it and did not flinch. "You were despondent. It is understandable after the shock she had given you. Depression brought on by trauma. So how did you deal with that feeling? You seemed pretty manic by the time I saw you. How did you flip the switch?"

I thought about it and tried to be honest. "Sometimes you just have to roll with things or they crush you, right? Life has taught me that. I decided that wallowing in cuckold drama would be even dumber than the faithful marriage charade we'd been playing at. What I really needed to move forward was some pussy, so that's what I got from you."

"So 'the faithful marriage charade'. Do you want to talk about that?"

"It's about what love means, I guess. To most men, love is just sexual attraction to somebody that you like. You will hear an average joe say things like 'She's a good cook and a good fuck, and that's what counts.' Maybe throw in, she's a good mother to my kids. That is a man being honest. To a woman, love seems to have some mystical component that men don't get. If you see a written statement like 'I will love you forever, darling,' you know either a woman wrote it and thought she meant it. Or a man wrote it, trying to fool a woman into thinking he meant it. It's all horseshit, as far as I'm concerned. But that was our marriage, and I thought it was what I wanted. You have to make some kind of a stand in life, and that was mine for ten years. I thought if I played the game by the rules, she would too. Then she copped out on me with that asshole."

"So where did you get these ideas? When did you first learn to roll with things to keep from crushing you?"

Kandy was bringing up memories I didn't like to dwell on, but I had to get it out. So I told her about it.

"I was pretty young when my dad got cancer, and it took a lot out of him physically. My mom was a devoted wife; they were even straighter than Linda and I were. She always told him she would love him forever. Then in the last six months of his life, she started going out with another man. My dad knew she was lining up his replacement, but by then he was too weak to do anything about it. It was creepy to watch how it affected him. This was my mother, so I had to cut her some slack, but that gave me a lesson in what marital vows are worth. Women like to talk about love and morals, but they are just like men. We're all animals. So it was a fucked up situation when my old man was sick, and when he died. But I learned to deal with it. Life is short and you can never fuck them all, but you have to get it while you can. I started chasing pussy when I was in high school and never slowed down until I met Linda."

"And how did Linda make you slow down?"

I had to think it over for a minute, then I just laughed. "Hate to repeat myself, but she was a good cook and a good fuck," I said. "And later on she was a good mother. So I gave her the best line of love bullshit I could manage, doing my best to take it seriously."

"So just a good cook and a good fuck. Was there anything more to it?"

"Sure, I thought we understood each other, and I could trust her. We could communicate. Linda was always pretty sharp, and knew a lot about literature and art, more than I did. My life was more interesting with her in it. It wasn't like she was just another bimbo. It never entered my mind that she would spread her legs for a numbnuts football player. Silly me."

"So you were disappointed in her when she did."

"Of course I was, at first. Then I just figured what the hell. She flipped the switch and opened our marriage up. Might as well make the most of it and get my kicks. So here we are."

"Okay, Jim. Our time is up. But your situation is very interesting, and we can explore this more deeply next time."

Kandy got off the bed and started getting dressed.

"Next time? I'm not sure I can afford it."

"If you want to continue therapy sessions, I won't charge you for them, only for sex. It's good practice for me. Let me know your schedule and I will fit you in."

I told her I would think about it. Then I slept like a baby.

***

WEDNESDAY, March 26th

Linda had finished her antibiotics and was feeling much better physically, but things were still off kilter with Jim. She was wary around him, and there had been no makeup sex so far. Jim seemed to be laughing at some personal joke a lot of the time, and he had spent a few more nights in his "lovenest", wherever it was. He didn't talk about what he was doing there, but Linda could guess. He put a spare keycard in the kitchen drawer where they kept keys, encouraging her to use it sometime, but she didn't think she ever would.

When Dee called and asked her to go to Morrison's again, her first impulse was to say no. She thought of the place as bad luck.

"What if Marc LaVallierre is there? He helped me make a mud pie out of my life, so it's not like I want to see him again. And I doubt Jim would want to go, even if we could get a sitter."

"Marc shouldn't be there. It's a week night and they won't have the orchestra for dancing. Also it is Ladies Night, so we can get half price drinks. Dave doesn't want to go either. It would just be a girls' night out. Jane is coming too. How about it?"

Linda said she would think about it but had her doubts. Then she mentioned it to Jim. Before she could explain about Ladies' Night, Jim said "Oh, to hell with that. I don't want to go out with those assholes again."

"Jim, those are our friends!"

"Your friends, maybe. But it's fine with me if you want to go. I'll watch the kids while you're gone. Maybe you can get laid, now that you beat the clap. Just call me if you're not coming home."

His air of unconcern irritated Linda enough to make her decide to go. Maybe she should get laid just to spite him, although the idea of sex was still disgusting. No, it would just be drinks with the wives club, A night out would be a welcome change of pace, the more she thought about it. She called Dee to pick her up.

***

When Linda and Dee got to the club, it was so packed that they were lucky to get a table near the entrance. Jane soon joined them. The crowd was about 80 percent women to 20 percent men, and the men were all eyes. It was a great setup for skirt chasing. Many of the women were dressed to the nines, even if they were just out with their girlfriends. Linda wore a simple frock and flat heels, no need to spiff up for Ladies' Night.

The room was loud with giggling and gossip over the sound system playing elevator jazz. A few couples were dancing without much enthusiasm. Jane had not talked to Linda since her fling with LaVallierre, and she immediately began plying her with questions. What was Marc like? Was he good? Was he big? Did he last long? Did Jim get mad? Linda finally told her to mind her own business. For a moment Jane looked hurt but Linda didn't care. So they discussed their jobs and their kids and the shows they had watched. It occurred to Linda that she didn't have all that much in common with her friends. It was easier to talk to Ronnie, even though she hardly knew him.

They were on their second round of drinks and having a hard time talking over the crowd noise, when there was a general hubbub and people were looking toward the entrance. Linda turned to see what was going on, and there was Marc LaVallierre with two of his hulking friends. He was scanning the room, checking out all the women like a stud horse in a field of mares. "Oh god, I hope he doesn't see me," Linda thought. She was dressed plainly, so it surprised her when LaVallierre's eyes locked on her. She looked down at the table in front of her.

"He's coming this way!" Dee said, excitedly. Linda hoped she was wrong, but soon the big man was standing right behind her, extending his hand over her shoulder just as he had at their first meeting.

"Laura, so nice to see you again," he said. "Shall we dance?"

Linda did not take his hand, but almost involuntarily she felt herself stand and turn to face him. There was hardly any space between them. He was smiling down at her, his breath minty, his blonde hair perfect. He just knew she would go with him again. She raised her right hand, as if to touch his, but then dropped it and raised her left hand, showing him her wedding ring. He was still smiling. She drew her hand back and slapped his face as hard as she could. Her ring left a small cut across his right cheek. He stood there stunned, the smile gone.

The room fell silent, everyone staring at Linda and LaVallierre. Linda hardly recognized her own voice when she screamed "You sonofabitch! You gave me the clap!"

Then Dee got up and slapped LaVallierre's other cheek. "Me too, you bastard!" she shouted. Jane came around the table to slap him too.

LaVallierre stepped away from their table, feeling the blood on his face. Then chaos erupted. Another woman ran up to LaVallierre and slapped him, shouting "Me too!" More women came forward to slap him. "Me Too!" Slap! "Me Too!" Slap! "Me Too!" Slap! "Me Too!" Other women throughout the room were chanting "Me Too! Me Too!" LaVallierre stood there dazed, and his wingmen didn't know what to do. They were more used to dealing with irate husbands.

Finally, a beautiful young black women strutted up to LaVallierre. "Motherfucker!" she bellowed. "Take your fucking ring and stick it up your ass!" She pulled off a gaudy, jeweled ring and tossed it at his feet. Then she punched him in the face. Linda didn't know anything about boxing, but she saw the punch as a thing of beauty, straight off the right shoulder with full range of motion. The girl's cornrow braids swung with the graceful rotation of her hip, her strong profile resolute as her fist drove into LaVallierre's face. The big man didn't go down but his head snapped back with a loud groan and there was more blood.

At that moment, LaVallierre's friends seemed to wake up to the danger of the situation. They might be big, tough football players against ordinary women, but they were vastly outnumbered. The "bodyguards" grabbed the punch-drunk player by the arms and rushed him to the exit, chased by even more pissed off females. Soon Linda heard the sound of a car peeling rubber out of the parking lot.

All the women in the room were on their feet, some of them laughing, some still chanting "Me Too!" The few men were looking bewildered.

Linda looked at Dee. "Why did you slap him? Did he infect you?"

"I don't know," Dee said, "probably. I gave him a blowjob in his car here last weekend. It was so quick that Dave didn't even notice I was gone."

"Jesus, Dee! A blowjob in his car? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was sacred, the greatest three minutes of my life," Dee said sarcastically. "Not all of us can get a sleepover. Anyway, you didn't tell me you got the clap."

Linda turned to Jane. "And you slapped him too?"

Jane looked embarrassed. "Yeah, I never touched him before tonight, but I just thought... you know, we have to stick together. Sisterhood is strong."

They all started laughing. Linda felt better than she had in weeks. But the club was in turmoil, and it didn't feel like things would calm any time soon. It was like the aftermath of an earthquake, everybody standing around not knowing what to do, talking about the LaVallierre clap epidemic.

"We'd better go," Dee said. "The paparazzi are here."

There happened to be a pair of lady news stringers in the crowd. They were now interviewing the black woman who punched LaVallierre. One of them was holding a microphone while the other filmed with a small camera. Several other women were lined up to talk to the reporters.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Linda said. "I don't want to be in the news."

As Dee was driving, Linda started to explain how to get the STI check, but Dee just said "I know. I just have to make sure Dave doesn't find out. Or maybe it would loosen him up if I just told him." Linda doubted that was a good idea, but it wasn't her problem. She had enough of her own.

Back home, she found Jim stretched out on the living room sofa watching an old movie on television.

"You're home early, Linda. How was your night out? Any action?"

Linda found his expectant look really irritating. Was he laughing at her again? She snapped at him, "No, Jim, I didn't get drunk, didn't get laid, didn't even give away my panties. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Jim said, "Jeez, I was just trying to be polite." But she was already headed up the stairs for bed and didn't look back.

***

THURSDAY, March 27th

Linda was ready for work by the time I got up, so I told her I would drop the kids at school. I was still curious about her girls' night out, but there was no time to talk and she didn't seem talkative. Just "Bye," and she was out the door.

On my lunch hour I walked down to the Camelott Inn carrying a sandwich I had brought from home. I got in the habit of eating lunch at the fuckpad most days, to feel like I was getting my money's worth out of it. It wasn't like I was fucking there every night. I could watch the TV news and on days I was really horny I jerked off for lunch.

So I was about half a block from the Inn when our local tabloid newspaper caught my eye. I didn't have six quarters to buy a copy from the rack, but I could see the top of the front page. It was quite sensational. "SUPERSPREADER!!" said the screaming headline. Below was a closeup picture of a guy with blood dripping from his nose and scratches on his face. He was grimacing in pain and his eye appeared swollen. I knew that face. It was Marc LaVallierre. Below the picture was a smaller headline reading "Football Star Accused Of Spreading Venereal Disease". Wow, I wanted to read that story!

Entering the Camelott Inn, I saw a stack of the newspapers on the front counter. Raj was there looking chipper as usual.

"How much for a copy, Raj?" I asked.

"Ah, no charge for you, Mister Jim, please enjoy it with my compliments."

Raj was always extra nice to me, like he really appreciated my business. Maybe he didn't have many other customers yet. So I took the paper to my suite and read the story at the kitchen table while eating my sandwich with a bottle of beer. It was an eye opener.

"A near riot broke out Wednesday evening at Morrison's Hot Heels dance club, when multiple women assaulted Mackerels tight end Marc LaVallierre. The action started when an unidentified woman referred to as 'Laura' slapped LaVallierre and accused him of infecting her with gonorrhea. The athlete was then struck by at least ten other women, most of them shouting "Me too!". The most serious attack was a right cross delivered by Mackerels cheerleader Layla Lanyon, LaVallierre's former fiancee. Ms. Lanyon expressed displeasure that Mr. LaVallierre had gifted her with a ring she determined to be an inexpensive knockoff."

There was more. Six married women had gone on record to accuse LaVallierre of seducing them and infecting them with gonorrhea. Eight more married women made similar claims while choosing to remain unidentified. A confidential source within the county health department stated that Marc LaVallierre had been named as a sexual partner by multiple gonorrhea patients over the past year, but failed to respond to repeated notifications to come in for testing. An official spokesman for the health department confirmed that gonorrhea was endemic to the local area in recent months, but could not comment on individual health records which were protected by HIPAA rules. The police were vague about whether they would investigate "the alleged violence against Mr. LaVallierre". My guess was that nobody really wanted to prosecute a bunch of middle aged women for beating up a scumbag football player. The team could not be reached for comment. So much for LaVallierre's "good guy" reputation!

I found myself laughing out loud, surprised at how much I enjoyed the story. Linda must have witnessed the whole fiasco, or even taken part in the action. I thought of calling her for the juicy details, but something held me back. For whatever reason, she didn't want to talk about it last night. Maybe after dinner tonight, if we could get back on the same page for once.

***

Linda was engrossed in her work, and it was close to noon when she noticed the headline teaser on her laptop browser. "Mackerels player in hot water over VD claims". Her heart sank. She closed the door to her office and read the story. It was all there, the slaps, the punch, the MeToo chant. And it wasn't just a local story. It had gone viral. The Daily Mail and The Sun had picked it up, and there was video footage on TMZ and YouTube. Photos of LaVallierre getting slapped and punched were all over the internet.

She read story after story, hoping against hope that there would be no trace of herself. One piece was headlined "Another Side of #MeToo! Who is LAURA?" Apparently someone overheard LaVallierre calling her Laura just before she slapped him. The tabloid reporter was trying to make it into a titillating mystery. "Another side of the #MeToo movement reared its head last night, when NFL football star Marc LaVallierre was confronted with his sordid history of infecting married women with gonorrhea. The heroine of this new crusade is a woman identified only as "Laura", who delivered the first blow to the lecherous Mackerels tight end. She may become the next feminist icon of our times, like 'Jane Roe' of Roe v. Wade. But who is this brave beauty? We may never know unless she chooses to come forward."

Linda was appalled and ashamed. Feminist icon? That was ridiculous. #MeToo was supposed to be about fighting sexual harassment and assault. What did feminism have to do with stepping out on your husband and getting an infection? Once again the power of words was being subverted by misuse. What next, would she be the Rosa Parks of gonorrhea? Just then she got a text from Dee.

Dee: "Hi LAURA! R u going 2 tell them who u r?"

Linda groaned. Dee texted like a damn teenager. She tapped out her reply.

Laura: "Dee, PLEASE keep your mouth shut about this! It's not funny!"

Dee: "U r no fun! (Just kidding, lips r sealed) Will tell Jane 2 shut up 2. Talk later."

Linda continued to comb through the news. Apparently lots of people at Morrison's had their phone cameras out. Three iconic photographs were reproduced with almost every story: first was a conga line of women queuing up to slap LaVallierre, second was a shot at the instant Layla Lanyon's fist made contact with LaVallierre's face, third was a closeup of the damage to his face: bloody nose, scratches, swelling eye.

As far as Linda could tell, her own face was nowhere to be seen in any of the coverage. That was a relief. She could have spent all day reading the stories, but it was already past two o'clock and she had to get back to work. There was a report that had to be finished before tomorrow morning.

***

Linda called home to let me know she was running late, so I fed the kids some hamburgers and got them settled down for the evening. I was flipping through channels on the TV when I found an entertainment news show that was covering the LaVallierre scandal. I figured, why not?

There were interviews with several women from the night before at Morrison's. Their faces were blanked out and their true names were not given, but they told similar sad tales. All had been swept away from their husbands by the football star and his great dance moves. Just like Linda. Marital strife was compounded by the nasty surprise of a sexually transmitted infection. Some were going through divorce. I was thinking, their husbands should call Kandy. These women were downcast, remorseful, and angry, with one exception. Layla Lanyon was the star of the show. She was comfortable in front of the camera and wanted the world to see her lovely face.

"There is no truth to the rumor that I was ever engaged to Mister LaVallierre. I'm not his type, right? I'm not married to another man!" She laughed merrily, showing her perfect teeth.

The interviewer asked, "Do you want to tell us about the ring you threw on the floor?"

She explained that LaVallierre was a pest who was always hitting on her and asking her for dates. She jokingly told him that if he liked it he should put a ring on it. Pretty soon he gave her this big, fat ring that he claimed was a priceless family heirloom. She took it to a pawnshop and found out it was made of cut glass and scrap metal, worth about ten bucks new.

"The fool tried to buy me with a dollar store ring! I was looking for him to tell him what I thought of his ring. Then I hear all these nice little married ladies talking about how he gave them a dose, and I just saw red. That boy needed his ass kicked!"

Asked about her punching power, Layla said it was in the genes. Her grandfather was "Duke" Lanyon, a former heavyweight boxing contender who once went 12 rounds with Larry Holmes. I was thinking LaVallierre probably never had a chance, even if he tried to defend himself.

I heard Linda at the front door just as Layla put in a plug for her budding movie career. Her first speaking part was to be an African princess in an upcoming Disney production, a remake of "Pippi Longstocking". It sounded like a good show for Emma and Tommy.

***

Arriving home, Linda was tired after grinding out her report, but she was glad to have it done for tomorrow's deadline. And it took her mind off all the MeToo nonsense. She hoped that story would have died down already.

She saw Jim in front of the TV. He told her there was a hamburger for her if she was hungry. She wasn't, very. "Just thinking, Linda. Maybe we could take the kids to see the new 'Pippi Longstocking' movie when it comes out."

"Oh sure. That sounds nice." She took off her coat and put it away, walked over to where Jim was sitting.

"She's in it," Jim said, gesturing at the TV screen.

She looked to see a slow motion replay of Layla Lanyon punching Marc LaVallierre in the face. Oh god. She sank to the sofa and hung her head.

"Everything okay?" Jim asked.

"Sure, fine. I'm just tired."

"Say, you were at Morrison's last night, weren't you? The clap riot is all over the news. Did you see any of that?" Jim was watching the screen and sounding casual, but there was a little edge to his tone..

Linda was resigned. It would all come out now. She might as well tell the truth.

"Yes, Jim, I saw the whole thing."

"How did it start?"

"Marc asked a woman to dance and she slapped him. Things took off from there."

Now he looked at her. "The woman named Laura?"

"That was what he called her."

"And you saw this happen."

"Yes I did. It happened right at our table."

Now Jim was nodding his head, like he knew. "Do you know this woman?"

"Yes, I have known her all my life."

"It was you, wasn't it? You are Laura."

"Yes, Jim. I am Laura. The jerk couldn't get my name right."

Jim pondered this for a moment. He wasn't exactly frowning but he looked like he was working on a puzzle.

"So what did you say to him?"

"I screamed at him, something like 'You gave me the clap!'"

"And then you slapped him."

"Yes, as hard as I could. My ring scratched his face when I hit him."

"And you didn't give a shit what anybody thought. You just let him have it, right there on the dance floor."

Linda didn't answer. She was afraid of what was coming. She looked at her hands, looked up again. She had to face it. Jim shook his head as if to clear his mind.

"You clocked him right there in front of all those people, made him bleed."

Linda stared at Jim, waiting. He turned, looking into her eyes, and just for a moment he lit up with his brightest smile.

"That's my girl!" he said. Then he went back to watching TV.

Linda didn't know what to think. Jim was unfathomable.

***

The poems quoted by Ronnie are "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats (1890) and "The Power of Words" by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1838?).

The poem excerpt read aloud by Linda is from "I See the Boys of Summer" by Dylan Thomas (1939).

***