She wrapped her arms around my neck, and cried into my shoulder for several minutes before her tears slowed, and her ragged breathing started to even out. She lifted her head, and pulled back a little but didn’t let go of me. “What should I do? What CAN I do?” She pleaded.
“I wish there was one magic answer to that question.” I repositioned us so that her face wasn’t quite as close to my own. Leaning on the back of the couch, each of us with one arm still around each other, but no longer directly face to face. “I can certainly tell you what didn’t work for me.” I added sadly.
She shifted to rest her head on my shoulder, “Well, it’s a start, I guess.”
“I’m going to have to start with one very important question, that may be hard to answer, but it’s going to have the biggest impact on your choices going forward.” I paused to take a deep breath. “Do you still love Paul?”
Bolting upright, she glared at me. “What kind of question is that right now?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s the only question to start with.” I took her hand, “Depending on the honest answer, there could be many choices, or just one.”
“I, I…” Her face softened from anger back to sadness. “Yeah, I do still love the son of a bitch. Even though I really hate his fuckin’ ass right now!”
“Understandable, very very understandable.” I said, knowingly. “Unfortunately, that also means you can’t – or rather shouldn’t – take the easy way out.”
She sighed loudly, “I was afraid you were going to say that. So you think I should just forgive and forget, stay with him?”
“No.” I replied quickly, “Definitely not. That’s what I tried to do. Forgiveness was hard, but I did it. Forgetting… well that’s the part I found impossible. Ultimately, it’s what did us in.”
“I see.” She pulled her arm from behind me and maneuvered herself off the couch picking up her glass. She wavered slightly and looked at my glass which still contained what probably amounted to a normal pour of wine. She pointed at it, and said “You need to catch up.”
I scooped my glass from the table, took a deep breath, and chugged down the remaining wine. Showing her the empty glass, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Better?”
“Much.” A small chuckle. “Can you open another bottle, I don’t know if I trust myself with a corkscrew right now.”
“Sure thing.” I lifted myself from my seat and took our glasses to the kitchen. Returning a moment later with the glasses full again.
“Thanks” as she took the glass and immediately put it to her mouth.
I noticed though that she didn’t take a huge pull this time, instead taking a large, but reasonable sip. I followed suit with my own drink and sat back down on the couch with her. Not as close as we had just been, but not as far away as we had started.
“So, like I said, I can’t tell you what WILL work, only what definitely won’t. I can give you some ideas I researched back when Trish and I were starting to split.”
“You researched ideas, but didn’t try any?” She raised an eyebrow.
“We were too far gone at that point. Everything I had found were ideas that should have been done right after I found out about her adultery, not eight years later.” I added, “I’ll warn you, some of the ideas that people said worked the best were quite… unorthodox.”
“Oh?” Leaning forward, obviously interested in ‘unorthodox’.
“Have you heard of a ‘Revenge Fuck’?”
“I haven’t heard it called that, but I have heard of the general idea of getting ‘even’ with a cheating partner.” Kathy’s face scrunched up a bit. “But I usually hear about that not working.”
“Right, right. No, that’s true. Just sleeping with someone else because they did, doesn’t really fix the problem.” I sipped my wine. “Usually, it’s done either behind the cheater’s back, or with their blessing. In the first case, the one originally wronged ends up feeling bad themselves, or feeling as though the cheater never got punished for the original crime. In the second, the permission to do it makes them feel like it’s not a fair trade, and the resentment builds again anyway.”
“Is there another way to do it?”
“Keep in mind, this is all second hand information from the Internet. So I make zero claims as to the efficacy of it. That being said… It did make sense to me when I read it.” She was watching me closely, listening intently, so I continued. “The best way to do a Revenge Fuck, is to make the cheater a participant.”
“What?” She nearly spat out some wine. “You think I should have a three-way with Paul and someone, and that’ll fix everything?”
“No, no, no…” I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture. Raised my glass to my lips and added in a bit of a mumble before taking a sip. “Well, at least not exactly.”
Kathy sank back into the couch, twisted toward me with her knee back up on it, crossed her arms and said, “Oooookay… well, explain.”
We spent the next several hours discussing, planning, plotting, drinking, and scheming. It was a great release for her, and I was happy to see her smile, even if it may be short lived. At some point we were hungry, and too drunk to cook, so we ordered food. Continuing to talk about all the specific details of her fantasy revenge plan.
“Oh, one thing,” she said around a mouthful of Pad Thai, “the spanking. That part won’t be much of a punishment, he likes it when I paddle his ass. He can take quite a beating and still be horny as fuck.”
“Simple.” I said washing down a bite of my food with a swallow of wine. “Make him cum first, then blister his butt immediately after. Trust me, it’s no fun right after.”
She raised an eyebrow at that. “Something else you read about?”
I glanced blurrily at the single bottle of wine remaining on the bar and even as I realized that I was completely hammered, and definitely giving away far too much very personal information, my mouth still opened and spilled out, “No, that’s personal experience there.” I laughed and took another bite before I revealed more.
“Hmmm…” well, that could work then. She mulled it over in her head. “It can’t be a good orgasm though, and it would have to be at the beginning of the festivities, that way he doesn’t enjoy anything after that point.”
“There you go!” I said, accentuating the point with my chopsticks in her direction.
She dug into her bowl again, muttering “It could work… it could really work.”
By the end of the evening, we were both completely and thoroughly trashed. We were slurring our way through every detail of the punishment for Paul’s cheating. Kathy’s fantasy to utterly dominate, degrade, defile, abuse, and cuckold her unfaithful husband practically timed out to the minute. It felt like a great cathartic exercise, like writing letters to someone you hate, then burning them.
The light of the sun glaring harshly in my eyes woke me the next morning. My head pounding and my stomach churning with a hangover the likes of which I hadn’t had since my early 20s. As I came to, I took in my surroundings. I was on the couch, fully clothed except for missing one sock. Kathy was nowhere to be seen. I got up, and cursed my idiocy of splitting more than 4 bottles of wine with just one other person. Stepping carefully, not to avoid noise, but to avoid the shock wave of pain that every step shot through my brain, I went to my bedroom door and peeked inside. Kathy lay there, face down, also still fully clothed, diagonally across the duvet. I watched her for a moment until I was sure I’d seen her breathing, then retreated to the kitchen for some much needed water.
Several hours later, Kathy came out of the room. She looked a little rough, with her hair an absolute mess, the slept in clothing wrinkled around her. Her eyes however shined brightly, the crystal blue piercing as the sunlight bounced off of her.
“Good morning!” She said brightly.
“Ah, fuck. Goddamn.” I said, holding my head. “You don’t have to shout about it.”
“Oooooh. So sorry, old man. I guess you can’t hang with the kids anymore, eh?” She said in barely more than a whisper. Then added, “But seriously, thank you for last night. I needed to let that all out.”
“You are more than welcome,” Still holding my head, “but, shhhhhh” placing a finger to my lips.
She walked over to me practically bouncing. I marveled at her youthful metabolism. I knew for a fact she’d drank more of that wine than I, and here she was skipping around the house. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek, which I hadn’t been expecting, and said “I really should go home and talk to pig-fuck.” recalling the nickname we’d given Paul last night.
“Good luck. Remember I’m here if you need to talk again.” I added, “but if you come back, bring Gatorade, not wine. Ugh.”
I didn’t hear from Kathy the rest of the day. On Sunday afternoon, I sent a quick text, just saying ‘Hope you’re doing OK.’ Receiving a prompt but cryptic reply of ‘yep all good gotta talk mon tho, important.’
Crap, I thought. We’d gone too far. She wants to talk to me to set new boundaries. I was glad that I’d been there for her, but I’d hoped that it wouldn’t end our friendship. I spent the rest of the day thinking about how I could apologize and make everything okay.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was so filled with dread that I couldn’t even drink my morning coffee. I got into work barely on time, and started working the long hour I knew I’d have to wait before Kathy would come in. I also knew we wouldn’t be able to speak right away, so I was hoping that her countenance would give me some clue as to just how fucked I was.
When she came into our area, she caught my eye and smiled wide. Good first sign, I thought. She was wearing a blue sundress with small white flowers, just long enough to meet dress code, but short enough to show off her fantastic, toned calves. The shoulder straps were also just within dress code, thick enough to not be considered spaghetti straps, but not much thicker. Plenty of smooth tan skin showing from her shoulders down to her long lean arms. She made her way over just as I got a call, of course. I made a face of ‘oops’ and shrugged as I went through my greeting. She paused ever so briefly as she passed my desk, running her hand from one shoulder to the other and leaning in close to the ear not covered by headset.
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