What Would Steve Do

What Would Steve Do

Kate and I decided to return to Literotica with a new character. This is fiction, all characters and events, etc. are figments of our imagination and have no connection to living or dead persons or true events.

********

I tried my best not to show any emotion. One half of my brain listened to the words, the other half working to stay calm by remembering what my father once said.

"Life can be pretty scary, do your best to keep your cool," my father taught me growing up. He was right, of course. Scarier than those horror movies that make you jump out of your seat. I mean, how many times have you been chased through your house by a knife-wielding maniac wearing a hockey mask? I bet you never even heard of it happening to anyone in real life.

'Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me' is the childhood retort when you're young and being taunted. Whoever made up that little ditty must have had ice water for blood. That's something else that crept through the other half of my mind.

"I'm leaving you. - I'm in love with someone else. - You'll be served with divorce papers tomorrow." I'm being barraged by these words and it hurts. But I did my best to keep my cool; Dad would be proud.

Without trying to be too blasphemous -- WWSD - What Would Steve Do?

Steve McQueen was the king of cool. Watch him in 'The Great Escape' or 'The Thomas Crown Affair' or... I could go on forever. I may have been born twenty years after Steve died, but I grew up sitting next to Dad watching Steve McQueen movies on Dad's giant sixty-inch TV in our den. This was the early 2000's and 60-inch TVs were considered huge.

So, as Jordan pummeled me with the words which would end our five-year marriage, I channeled Steve so I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of breaking down and crying. That would come later.

Oh, you're surprised when you read 'him' in that last sentence? Did you think this was some jilted husband writing to complain that his bitch of a wife has made him a cuckold and is dumping him? No, my friends. I'm the wife and Jordan is my husband, the man who five years ago stood in front of friends and family 'forsaking all others' etc.

So why am I writing this story in 'Loving Wives'? Three reasons. One, for these past five years, I've been a loving wife. Two, this is my first stop when I read Literotica; the Loving Wives section has turned me on to a number of great authors with great tales to tell. And three - well, read on to find out.

***********

I think Jordan was stunned when I didn't break down and cry. Instead, I offered a suggestion. "Why don't you pack a couple bags and head over to your girlfriend's house?"

"What do you mean, me pack? Who said you get to stay?"

Still keeping my cool, I replied, "Well, if you're not moving out, put your things in the guest room. I'm staying in the master bedroom." If I wasn't so hurt by his betrayal, I might have laughed at how his mouth was moving and no words came out.

I marched into the master bedroom and started throwing his clothes into the hallway. Jordan surrendered. "I'll do it. Quit dumping my suits in the hall!"

Jordan was on the phone. His girlfriend must have changed his mind because he started packing his clothes in two suitcases, then emptied most of his dresser drawers into plastic garbage bags before leaving without saying goodbye or even shutting the front door.

That's when I fell apart.

An hour later I got off the bed, rinsed my eyes and face with cold water and walked into the kitchen. "Here's when the jilted spouse drinks a fifth of bourbon or some other ridiculous act." I think I even said this out loud. I was tempted to get on my bike and take a ride out to the country, but that's the last thing I should do. Riding a motorcycle at high speeds when your head's not in the game is a great way to find yourself as a hood ornament on some logging truck or wrapped around a tree. No thanks!

I put on my jogging shoes and went for a run. Alison Morissette lyrics playing in my head:

"And every time you speak her name

Does she know how you told me

You'd hold me until you died, till you died

but you're still alive!"

***********

The divorce should have been easy, I didn't ask for alimony, I'm gainfully employed and earn as much or more than Jordan. It came down to how to split the equity in our house. Home values increased in the Phoenix area the five years since Jordan's parents bought us the house as a wedding present, and yes, the house is in both of our names.

Jordan's mother and father REALLY liked me; I'm the daughter they never had. Jordan's parents called me a month after I was served when they learned the truth of why we were getting a divorce. Jordan's mother cried on the phone apologizing for her son's awful behavior. "We didn't raise him this way."

Gary Smith, Jordan's shyster lawyer, went all out trying to prove I was just as much, if not more, at fault for the collapse of the marriage. Poor, dumb Jordan spent thousands trying to paint me as some wicked witch. It was almost funny with what they came up with to discredit my reputation. They somehow dug up the fact I once took part in a nude run through campus with a few hundred other co-eds on a warm spring evening that ended up as an impromptu skinny dip in the campus pool. Their bubble burst when they couldn't find a single university administrator who thought it was nothing but good, clean college fun. Most lamented they couldn't join in the fun.

Smith thought he struck gold when it came out that my girlfriend hired a stripper for my bachelorette party. Visions of me going down on or having full-on sex with some buff and hung stud stripper vanished when they found the stripper and he laughed in the lawyer's face.

"Dude, I'm gay! No way I'm having sex with a woman!"

**********

Once the divorce was finalized, I made up my mind to change my life. Expectations of becoming a mother became new options for thinking of what I wanted and needed instead of what 'we' wanted. There wasn't much to get rid of once the house was sold since it had only been five years and neither of us were into accumulating a lot of unnecessary possessions.

Here I am, a twenty-eight-year-old college graduate with a BS in Criminology and Criminal Justice from Arizona State University. No children, no husband, a car, a motorcycle and sixty-seven thousand dollars in my bank account. What to do, where to do it?

I decided to leave Phoenix, pack my stuff, and head back East.

I went back to my maiden name, Coons, from my married name, Peterson. I sold the car and gave a month's notice. It was tough telling Sergeant Taylor I was leaving; he's been a fantastic mentor during my four years with the Phoenix Police Department.

"What are you going to do, Val?" Sarge wasn't asking because he was being nosy, the man actually cared.

"My Aunt April had a baby a few months ago. I'm certain I told you about her. She and her husband have a detective agency in New York. I talked to her after Jordan moved out, she and her husband offered me a job. With the baby, she's had to cut down on her work."

Sarge shook his head. "What kind of detective agency? I can't see you chasing after cheating spouses."

"No, they're more into finding missing persons and such. Aunt April says it can be quite rewarding. They actually helped the Feds shut down a human trafficking ring last year when it turned out the child they were looking for had been abducted by a gang."

Sarge smiled. "Noble work."

My turn to smile. "Just like we do here Sarge -- noble work."

"Valerie, come over for dinner before you leave. Carol will want to say goodbye."

"I'd like that. Talk to Carol and tell me what night works for you two." I gave Sarge a hug.

Carol is Sarge's wife, I know she likes me. When she found out Jordan was leaving me, she sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a sweet note. Of course, the reason Carol likes me could be because I saved her husband's life last year.

***********

It should have been a simple traffic stop. Sergeant Taylor was riding with a rookie two weeks out of the police academy. I heard the call come in over the radio, they were pulling a car over because it ran a red light. I was in the area on patrol and thought I'd swing by since Sarge said there were at least four people in the car.

As I pulled up the rookie was standing on the driver's side and Sarge was standing on the curb keeping an eye on the passengers. As I stepped out of my squad car, Sarge started to yell. He was pulling his gun out of its holster shouting, "Hands up in the air!"

There was a loud 'bang' and the back side window of the car exploded. Sarge was hit and the force of the bullet against his vest sent him backwards. The rookie dropped to the ground almost simultaneously as a second bang came from the car. The rookie wasn't hit, but he was lying on the ground having trouble pulling his own gun from its holster.

Now, you'd think these guys would just take off, take their chances and hightail it out of there, but like the Don Henley song goes, these were 'wild eyed pistol wavers who ain't afraid to die'. The back door opened and a tall, skinny guy stepped out pointing his gun at Sarge's head.

I didn't hesitate, pulling the trigger aiming for center mass, I hit the shooter in the upper arm. The bullet ripped through his arm, destroying his humerus before exiting the arm and ripping through the front of his chest. The gun fell out of his hand and I swung left putting two rounds into the back window of the car. I guess that was all it took for the driver to punch the gas and leave his companion behind. I would have put a few more rounds in their car, but there were other cars driving in the opposite lanes and I couldn't guarantee a stray bullet wouldn't hit an innocent bystander.

They found the car within half an hour and caught two of the three passengers. One of them had my bullet in his right shoulder still stuck in his shattered clavicle. The first guy I shot spent two weeks in the hospital before heading to prison charged with attempted murder, receiving stolen goods, drug charges, and anything else the DA could think of. Both of the guys lived, and to be honest, although I'm ready to take a life, I'm glad I'm still a virgin in that regard. I've seen how it affects some of the guys who have had to do it.

Of course, as it happens now with any police shooting, someone tried to make me out to be a 'female Dirty Harry', claiming I was irresponsible for shooting into the vehicle. "She only did it because the passengers were people of color," and. "She had no way of knowing if all the passengers were guilty of any crime." The usual zoo-like atmosphere soon lost most of its volume, but it gave the usual special interests and news outlets something to do for a while.

Luckily, the officer who found the wounded guy had the medics swab his hands and the subsequent test proved he had fired a weapon. The car's trunk had a few pounds of Meth and twelve semi-autos. The best part was when some dumb blonde from Phoenix-based KZXQ TV News shoved a microphone in the rookie, Officer Hernandez's, face with a camera rolling, asking some obnoxious question about police shooting 'people of color'.

KZXQ never aired Hernandez's reaction, but some bystander was filming with his cell phone and it became a big hit on YouTube, picked up by everyone from Bill Maher to Joe Rogan. Hernandez takes a moment, he can't believe he's being asked this asinine question. He looks down at his bare forearms, before looking up at the blonde.

"Do I not have enough color?" he asks. "How much color do I need before it's okay for Officer Peterson to save my life by shooting at 'a person of color'?"

The blonde realizes she's just been made to look like a fool and quickly backpedals off the courthouse steps.

The whole media circus died down, but for months I had to put up with the 'female Dirty Harry' ribbing around the precinct. Photos of Clint Eastwood and his.44 magnum were taped to my locker, sometimes with my head photoshopped onto his shoulders, and "Make my day!" was repeated ad-nauseum.

I decided to keep my 'cool' and take the ribbing with a light heart. It was, after all, done with a sense of awe and humor because I had saved Sergeant Taylor's and Officer Hernandez's lives with my quick action. I replaced the Harry photos with a photo of my own choosing. It was the first shot of Emily Blunt in 'Edge of Tomorrow' when she's in her training area doing the one-handed plank, probably the second-best movie introduction of a buff female character (non-superhero category), second only to Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2. And besides, I've often been compared to Ms. Blunt, same build, same cute face, so I thought I'd just go with the flow. Speaking of Emily Blunt, now that I think about it, the guy I shot coming out of the car reminds me of those gangbangers in the 'Sicario' border crossing shoot out -- same dead-man-walking eyes.

"Wait a minute," you're asking yourself, "you look like Emily Blunt, you're a hero by saving your fellow officers' lives and you seem like a pretty decent person, why'd your husband dump you?"

Well, I've seen my replacement. The first time was a month before our divorce became final, the two of them together as they walked into a restaurant where I was having dinner with two friends. I could be catty and say she wore too much makeup, but let's be honest -- the woman was damn good looking and that chest! I can't say whether they were real, but I can say they were big. Mine are almost a B cup, hers had to be in the D, double D range. Jordan once asked me if I'd consider breast enhancement and I shut him down immediately, "End of discussion!" shut down. Guess he found a set he can get lost in.

Jordan didn't see me, but my friend Lucy saw Jordan and decided on her own to do something. She gave our waitress a hundred dollars and bribed her into dumping a tray of drinks on Jordan's lap. The waitress was reluctant until Lucy told her why. The waitress gave an evil grin, took the hundred and proceeded to 'accidently' spill a tray with three pints of beer on Jordan. Bonus points for one of the three spilling on his date. Not exactly BTB, but it was good for a cathartic laugh.

***********

I know I'll miss my friends and most of the guys in the squad. But I won't miss the possible occasional run-ins with my ex. Despite my stoic façade, it hurt to be so easily replaced.

Also, I won't miss the Phoenix summers. The Phoenix sunshine and warm winters were a siren's song when I was researching colleges, having grown up in cold and wet West Central New York. Now a hundred and ten in the shade is just oppressive.

Moving closer to home will have its advantages. I grew up in a very loving family. Mom, Dad, two younger brothers. Ours was the house where my friends and I hung out, that's how cool my folks were. Dad taught law at Cornell, Mom spent the majority of her time taking care of the kids and the household, but is also a published author of historical novels, with an emphasis on 'historical'. Most of her characters were strong females who endured the very real events during World War 2. The Japanese camps for the various Western nationals in China, the Nazi concentration camps, the American camps for the Japanese removed from their Western US homes, what happened to millions of women as the Soviet army pushed through Eastern Europe.

But Mom always said none of the women in her novels were stronger or grittier than Dad's sister, my Aunt April. It's because of Aunt April that I became interested in police work. She was an FBI agent when I was in my early teens. I listened to her tales of undercover work and it sounded all so glamorous. Glamorous to an impressionable young girl. Then, during my sophomore year at ASU, Aunt April quit the FBI and I didn't see her for two years while she worked in the Middle East. She came back, attended my graduation from ASU, then was gone again, working in Central America for another year.

Three years ago, she returned to the States, ended up working for the RolandPrice detective agency in New York. At least I got to see her more than once every two years while she was in New York. She made an effort to get together with me at least three or four times a year.

I don't know why, but Dad rarely told me what he knew of whatever Aunt April was doing either in the Middle East, Central America, or while working in New York. I'd Google her name from time to time; nothing ever came up during the three years while she was out of the country. My first hit was a Pulitzer Prize winning piece in the Dallas Morning News about a web of religious cults that the FBI raided, arresting their leaders for human trafficking, sexual exploitation and murder. Buried within the article was the tale of how a young boy and his mother were saved from the church's New Jersey compound by April Coons of the RolandPrice detective agency of New York.

There were a few other articles from time to time, but the one that hit the national news concerned her involvement in the arrest of a retired US Army Colonel up in Washington State. Numerous county officials were also arrested for taking bribes from the Colonel. The Colonel's bodyguard was shot and killed by Karin Roland. The bodyguard was tied to at least ten murders which took place over the past two decades. The Colonel was charged as an accessory to four of the murders, including the murder of his own daughter's boyfriend.

Last year, Aunt April shocked us all when she announced her engagement to Henry Price, her partner in the agency, then really shocked us when she told us she was expecting. Henry, or Hank as he likes to be called, is at least ten years older than her, but the guy is in fantastic shape and I think he'll be okay, even as his fifty-year-old bod chases an infant around the house.

The wedding itself was an eye-opener. I always considered myself a pretty tough broad, and maybe I am, but compared to Aunt April and her Matron of Honor, Karin Roland? Not even close. Karin's husband was Hank's best man and I spent an hour with Bill Roland discussing our favorite mystery authors.

********

I'm still not certain if I should confess this next part, it's a little embarrassing. I'll blame my behavior on several factors. It happened the second month after the divorce. I've always been a good girl, throughout high school and my first two years in college I stayed a virgin. I'd never had a one-night stand in my life and I was completely faithful to my husband. So, what happened is totally out of character. My excuse? It had been too long since I woke up lying next to a man or felt a man's arms around me. Plus, I knew it would feel so damn good.

Jordan's best friend, Kyle Miller, stopped by to see how I was doing. Kyle and I always got along, no flirting, he was Jordan's best man at our wedding and neither of us would break that barrier. When Kyle called one night, I saw his name on the phone from my list of contacts. I almost let it go to voicemail, but I answered, "Hello Kyle."

"Valerie, thanks for taking my call. How are you?"

I nearly laughed at the question. "Just peachy, Kyle. Living the high life after your buddy dumped my ass for the Victoria Secret Model look-alike."

"Val, she's got nothing on you. Don't talk like that."

"Right, Kyle. Then how come I'm warming up a frozen dinner to eat by myself while he's probably having dinner downtown with Rory?"

"Toss whatever you're heating in the trash. I'll take you out to dinner."

I did think about the offer for a second. "Thanks Kyle, but I'm not up to going out. Why'd you call?"

"Look Val, I hate the way this went down. You didn't deserve this."

I laughed and quoted Clint in 'Unforgiven', "Deserves got nothing to do with it."

Kyle, bless his heart, caught it and laughed. "Well, I know you like Thai. I'll pick up a couple of take-out containers and stop over. Just to talk. I miss you."

I was in no mood to argue and I did like Kyle as a friend. "Three stars on my Green Curry and some Spring Rolls."

"See you in a half hour."

When I answered the door a half hour later, Kyle held the bag with our dinner in one hand and gave me his usual half side hug with the other. I got on my toes and kissed his cheek.

Dinner was nice and we each had a couple of beers. It was very platonic, not even the hint of flirting. I was starting to feel mellow; Kyle was one of those guys who it's so easy to talk to. He got up after the table was cleared and started to say good night. I invited him to watch a movie with me. He's a great fan of Bruce Willis and something light was just what the doctor ordered. Kyle and I decided on 'Bandits', given my need for a little humor. I didn't anticipate getting turned on by the movie, but Cate Blanchett is just so damn sexy in it. And the reason she takes off with Bruce and Billy Bob, her husband's indifference, clicked in my head.

Kyle was sitting in the leather recliner, ignoring me as he watched the movie. I got up from the sofa and straddled his legs. His expression was priceless; I don't think he'd be any more surprised if I poured my beer over his head.

"Don't over think this," came out of my mouth as I kissed his lips and played with the back of his head. Kyle, bless him, kissed me back. He opened my blouse. With my size breasts, a bra is unnecessary, and Kyle teased my nipples, making them stand out. I returned the favor, pulling his t-shirt off, biting his nipples; I could feel him harden against my clit.

"Damn Val, that feel so good!"

Standing up, still straddling his thighs, I unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them down along with his boxers. He grabbed the sides of my running shorts and yanked them down my legs. I stepped out of my shorts and went right back to his lap; now his bare cock was wedged between my pussy lips, the head teasing my clit.

Kyle grabbed my ass, lifted me up, his cock in a position to enter me. "Condom?" he asked. I answered him by dropping down, he slid halfway in. "Guess not," he said it with a smile, it felt that damn good.

Kyle moved both hands from my ass to my breasts and proceeded to knead them. "I've always wanted to play with these, you damn tease."

"Jordan wanted me to get them enlarged." As soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered if I screwed up by bringing up his best friend.

"Jordan is a fucking idiot. Who could even think these puppies could be improved, they're fucking perfect." The words were like magic to my ears because I knew he wasn't bullshitting me. I kissed him, our tongues dancing with each other.

While that was going on, I slowly lowered until our pubic bones met. Our lips stayed together, his hands continued to play with my breasts, I had one hand on his shoulder and the other playing with my clit. I did a slow gyration of my hips until I felt my orgasm coming.

"Cum with me Kyle! I want to feel you let go."

"Thank god, I don't think I can last another minute." I stayed still, the only part of my body moving were the muscles inside my pussy squeezing the cum right out of his cock, flooding my cervix as my own orgasm tore through me.

I celebrated our coupling by laying an open mouth kiss on him. This was the moment I dreaded, Would Kyle, after his release, start to regret what we just did?

"Can I stay tonight?" My body swelled, tearing up when he asked me.

"Yes, I'd like that," I answered, "Let's shower and go to bed." I put a little extra sway in my hips as I lifted off his cock and walked back to the bathroom, hoping he was watching. I wanted a repeat of what we just did.

After showering together and spending extra time cleaning each other, I laid down on the bed and watched Kyle come into the bedroom, naked except for the towel wrapped around his shoulders. I opened my arms and brought him in for a kiss. Kyle briefly kissed my lips, then down my body, making stops at my neck, breasts, belly button, and finally, my clit. With two fingers curled up massaging my g-spot, he sucked my clit until I came, wetting the bed.

"My turn." I had him lay flat on his back and did my best to swallow him whole. I could have made him cum, but I needed him inside me again. As soon as he was hard, I turned over and brought him up and over me. I wanted him in the missionary position so I could see his eyes and kiss his lips. We made love this time. We weren't 'in love' but we were making love, if that makes sense.

After a few minutes in this position, Kyle asked, "Can I do one thing before we finish tonight?"

I trusted this man. "Yes."

Kyle pulled out and turned me onto my hands and knees before reentering me. With his hands grabbing my ass cheeks, he began to pump in and out. His thumb tickling my back door sending waves through my body; it felt outrageously wonderful. "Please don't stop, I'm going to cum again!" Kyle continued to pump until I came and collapsed on the bed.

"I loved that," he said. "Your hands grasping the pillow like that made me feel like a stud."

I rolled over to my back. "You are a stud. Now make love to me again."

I was completely drained but kept moving my hips and doing my Kegels until Kyle's second release. We fell asleep in each other's arms, naked and smiling.

It felt so damn good to wake up in the morning with Kyle still in my bed. I gave him a spare toothbrush and we stood side by side at the sink brushing the morning out of our mouths. I made a pot of coffee and we stayed in bed while drinking coffee and talking.

"Kyle, I hope you understand, but I think we both know this was a one-time thing. Am I wrong?"

"Val, you'll always be my special friend, but I know you're leaving soon and although we are great friends, we could never be husband and wife. Between your job and that damn motorcycle, you'd make me a nervous wreck, and then there's the whole Jordan thing. He's been my friend since first grade and I know it's just too weird thinking of the four of us hanging out."

I laughed when he said it. "Why's that?" I asked, being a smart ass. He turned me over and smacked my butt. That's all it took. Next thing I know, my stomach is resting on two pillows and Kyle's fucking me again from behind; this time smacking my ass just enough to make it sting with pleasure. It's the last time we made love. We still trade texts at least every other month; the guy is a genuine sweetheart.

********

Before I got side-tracked, I was telling you how we sold the house and I decided to leave Phoenix.

By the time I was ready to leave Phoenix, I'd been divorced for three months and Jordan was already married to Ms. Rory Stewart of Tucson. Of course, Kyle was his best man again, proving we were right about the impossibility of our continuing as a couple. I laughed when I read the wedding notice in the paper. I wondered if people confused the two of them -- the male named Jordan and the female Rory. The photo had her dressed in a white wedding dress and I admit, she was a beautiful bride. I used that section of the paper to wrap my leftover scraps from a fish dinner before throwing it in the garbage dumpster.

Over it? Not yet, it seems.

My plan was to spend five weeks on my bike getting to New York via Tombstone (Val Kilmer may have been the ultimate Doc Holliday, but Kurt Russell channeled Steve McQueen to play the coolest, deadliest Wyatt Earp on film), Big Bend National Park which gives me an opportunity to run out the Ducati at 100+ mph through Western Texas, New Orleans, the Tail of the Dragon in Deals Gap Tennessee with its 318 beautiful curves in 11 miles, Ithaca to see my folks, then New York City to start my new job working for Aunt April and Hank.

I stuffed most of my worldly goods and clothes into a six-by-eight moving storage container and had it shipped to my folk's house in Ithaca. I filled two small panniers and a backpack with only the essentials and hit the road on my Ducati Panigale. Not to sound too slutty, but the feeling of 120 horses between my legs can sometimes make up for sleeping alone.

**********

Karma can be a kind or cruel mistress, depending on which side of the fence you're standing on. And if Karma owed me any debt from the way Jordan dumped me, I now consider the debt paid in full.

I stopped at the Pilot Travel Center just outside Tucson. Had just finished filling my tank when I looked inside the windshield of the SUV pulling in and parking on the other side of the gas pumps. Damn if the newly minted Mrs. Rory Peterson wasn't sitting in the passenger seat of the vehicle. Sure, I'd only seen her a couple times, but it was her. Only last March, while preparing for the police detectives' exam, I took an online FBI class on facial recognition. No doubt in my mind this was Jordan's new bride.

My phone was already in my hand because I was going to make a call. On a hunch I started the video and aimed the camera over my shoulder, pretending I was talking to someone. I caught the scene through his side window as she grabbed the back of his head and gave him a great big kiss. The guy opened the door and practically jumped out of the SUV.

"Damn Rory, you know I hate kissing you after I cum in your mouth!" he screamed at her.

Rory gave out a dirty laugh, smiling. "Maybe I just won't go down on you in the car anymore! Maybe you should just get your wife, Miss Prude, to blow you from now on!"

The guy was pulling his credit card out of his wallet to pay for the gas with the door still open as they gave each other shit. "And maybe I should quit giving you what your clueless husband can't!" was his reply. Neither of them paid any attention to me as I continue to record their banter.

As the guy turned to put the nozzle in the SUV, Rory looked past him and towards me. In the small screen I could see her eyes focus on my phone. I had enough video, put the phone in my pocket and my helmet on. I rode around the back of the building and sent Jordan the video. Started the bike back up and headed Southeast via the back roads.

I smiled all the way to Tombstone.