The way the fight started was the subject of dispute for a long time afterwards. I was a high school freshman, playing forward on my school’s junior varsity team. I was always pretty tall, about 6’2 (188 cm) and I was aggressive on the basketball court. We were winning against our most hated rival, the rich kids of Locust Valley High, when someone threw an elbow at one of my teammates. I don’t think I threw the first punch, but I was suddenly in the middle of that brawl, and in my memory, I can still feel an otherworldly darkness overcoming me. I can recall my hand curling into a hard ball of bare knuckles and the animal motion with which I swung my fist into the face of the kid who stood before me. The memory is now a blur, but as I was pulled back by my coach and a referee, I can vividly recall the sight of him lying on that polished wooden floor in a pool of blood. I had broken his nose and he had suffered a really bad concussion when he spun violently to the ground.
Even though I didn’t start the fight, I had caused the most damage so the blame for what had happened fell upon me. The kid had to be hospitalized, and it was not certain whether he’d sustained any permanent motor damage. An assault charge was threatened, but in the end, no legal action was taken. I was kicked off the team and sternly lectured about my violent behavior. I took it very much to heart.
Since that time, I’ve thought of myself as a pacifist. I’ve never been in a physical fight since then, and I go to great lengths to avoid serious argument or any kind of confrontation. I know some people think I’m spineless and pathetic, and though it’s unpleasant to know that some people think I’m a wimp, I’ve found it easier to go through life blameless, with as little adrenaline as possible in my blood.
All of that changed last year.
I came upon the notebook purely by accident. For the second time that month, my wife had lost the key to our post office box. Abigail had begun working on a new Netflix series, “Zombies Rule the Earth,” at the beginning of February, and she called from the set to ask if I could find it. It was a Friday evening, three weeks after she’d joined the crew of that show, and since they hadn’t gotten started until noon, she was on her 5 pm “lunch break.” We both worked in film and tv production: she as a make-up artist, me as a production manager, so we were accustomed to each other’s long hours and asymmetrical work schedules.
I was between shows and had been out of work for about six weeks. It was unusual for me to be idle so long, but to be a freelancer in the film industry is to accept the possibility of dry spells, so although finances would be tight, we assured ourselves that we could ride it out. I hadn’t had much of a break during the past several years and our bank account was in decent shape, even though we had some steep and worrisome monthly obligations. Abbie had recently bought a new BMW and the car payment was absurdly high. I had ventured a cautious word when she bought it, but Abbie insisted that for all the hours she spent working, she deserved to have something really nice. Of course, I agreed. Then, there was the mortgage. We’d bought our house just before the last big bubble, so even though the valuation had increased, our monthly note was probably a little more than we should wisely pay. Abbie really wanted that house, and I went along with her. It is a great place, after all.
Our finances were tight, but Abbie was making pretty good money on her show. We’d be OK for a while until, we were sure, I’d be working again and we’d have two good incomes.
I walked upstairs to our bedroom, one of two in that small but charming hillside home. The house, a 1920s era Spanish-style two-story building, was in a cul-de-sac in the hills in Northeast L.A. We enjoyed fixing it up together, usually finding that our choices for decoration and furnishing were very well aligned, even if she came up with most of the design ideas. It was just one more thing of many that we shared as a couple. Our marriage, I believed, was an ideal partnership.
I held the phone to my ear as I mounted the stairs. “Look on the top of the dresser,” she directed, “or maybe on the bathroom counter. “I really need you to find it, and I’m sure it’s in either of those places. Unless… maybe I left it in that blue sweatshirt pocket, which is somewhere in the dresser. By the way, good dinner here on the set tonight. I’m loving the caterer on this show. They do a great salmon…”
We’d been married four years and together for over six. We’d met and had begun dating almost seven years ago when we were both working on a low-budget feature film. My first glimpse of Abbie was at one of the cast and crew lunches. We were sitting at a row of tables under a tent set up by the caterers on a location in Malibu Canyon. Abbie was chattering away with a couple of girls in the costume department with her back to me. I couldn’t see her face, but my eyes were caught by her beautiful mane of long auburn red hair. I got up, walked over to the coffee table, just to sneak a look and, when I saw her, I was immediately smitten.
She was smiling at something her friends had said, a wide open, toothy smile that seemed to light up the world around her. Her eyes were a bright, cerulean blue, and her skin was clear and creamy white, not pasty, but a shade that reminded me of a Botticelli painting. She finished her lunch and rose from the table, and I watched her tall, slender body move with an easy grace. My heartbeat quickened, and I immediately fell into a deep crush. I felt as if I were on a quest, chasing her throughout the five weeks of that shoot. She didn’t make it easy. She turned down my first two dinner invitations, and she was just a little bit meaner to me than she had to be to when she did it, but by the time the show had wrapped, She had turned the tables and asked me out on a date. Very soon, we were a couple.
Our rapport had grown quickly. Early on, we found that we were finishing each other’s sentences and laughing at private jokes that only we could understand. It was a joy to discover the things we had in common, the books we both loved, the music we listened to, our love for classic movies. We cooked together, for ourselves and for our friends, and I learned how to stay out of her way as we moved our respective dishes around the stove in our first apartment. I was a considerate partner in the kitchen and, she said, a considerate partner in bed. I was always careful to attend to her needs first. And as good as were as lovers, we were even better together as friends.
“I love how easy it is for us to just be together,” Abbie told me in those early days. “We never seem to argue. You’re like a zero-drama person.”
We were married two years after that, four years ago as of last June. Going into the marriage, we knew we’d have to work around each other’s unpredictable work schedules, but that’s the business we had both chosen and we were determined to figure it out. We loved our jobs. We were good at them, and they paid well. We tried to get shows that filmed somewhere in the L.A. area to avoid long separations. I was grateful that Abbie’s current show would keep her in town for the whole five months of shooting. We’d have most weekends together and she’d be able to take on at least some of the dog walking duties for Masha, the labradoodle puppy she had found for us.
“Don’t wait up for me,” Abbie told me as I searched for her key. I had the phone on speaker as I rummaged through the drawer. “I’ll try not to wake you when I get home, but, you know, Masha’s going to bark. If you find the key, just leave it on top of the dresser, and I’ll get to the post office tomorrow. Love you,” she said, and she clicked off her phone.
Resuming my search for the key, I double-checked the bathroom counter, moved some books and some of her little terra cotta Buddha figures around the top of the dresser. No luck. I pulled open the top drawer where she kept her sweatshirts. I drew out an old sweater and that intricately knitted top she bought two years ago on a vacation trip to Ireland. The sweatshirt was folded neatly just to one side of it. It was that purple hoodie she liked so much. I held it to my face as I pulled it out. It smelled like her: a little sweet, a little salty, a little bit of musk. I loved the way that Abbie smelled.
Sure enough, I felt the outline of her mailbox key in her sweatshirt pocket. I placed it upon the dresser, folded the hoodie and tucked it back into her drawer.
That’s when I came upon the notebook.
It was a spiral-bound notebook with lined, three-holed paper, the kind of three-subject pad you used in school. Out of idle curiosity, I opened it somewhere toward the front pages and saw that it was filled with Abbie’s handwriting. I didn’t know that my wife kept a journal, and I felt a little hesitant about invading her privacy. I paused for a moment, but curiosity got the better of me and, sitting on the floor beside the dresser, I flipped through a few pages, skimming past entries from last fall and holidays that just went by until I came to and entry for February, just a few weeks ago, when Abbie had begun work on this new show.
The date was scrawled at the top of the page. I began to read my wife’s neatly rounded handwriting below it.
"February 2: Not off to a great start. This is yet another zombie show (I’m sick of zombies!!) , and there’s a ridiculous amount of work we have to do on every day-player as well as the main characters. And Amanda, who’s second on the call sheet, is one of those real pain-in-the -ass actors, who comes in late, complains about a of random stuff and second-guesses everything we do. They had changed her pages when she came in this morning, so she had a lot to memorize. And then it took so long with her in the chair that we were holding up the shoot and the second assistant director, Corey, came in and yelled at me.
It wasn’t my fault, but Corey wouldn’t let me explain. He’s a real asshole, even if some of the ladies think he’s sexy, and I hate working with him already. It’s going to be a very long five months of production. I need the work, but I might not be too sad if I get fired from this show. If only Scott were working…”
There was a long passage about a conversation she’d had with her friend Erica. Boring, so I skipped ahead a couple of pages. Even though the entries consisted of harmless minutiae, it felt wrong to be reading from those private pages. I kept going, though, looking for anything juicy or, more precisely, anything that had to do with me.
"February 4: Corey, the second A.D., came into my trailer this morning to apologize. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk,” he said. I accepted his apology. I have to agree that he’s really kind of a sexy guy in a way that’s hard to describe. There’s just something about him, the way he moves, a sense of confident masculinity. He’s a very alpha male. Later, he sat with me and some guys from the sound department at lunch. We talked for the whole half hour…"
"February 7: There was nobody at the craft services table when I stopped for a muffin and Diet Coke, and then I felt someone moving behind me. Before I could spin around, he called my name and lightly took my shoulder. I turned around to face him, and he leaned over and whispered in my ear. `Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you.’
It was a ridiculous thing for him to do and there are so many reasons why I should have said no. We’re work colleagues. My career—both our careers—could be jeopardized by any workplace hanky panky. Plus, I’m married. I’ve never cheated on Scott, and I promised that I never would. But at that moment, it seemed like there wasn’t any choice. “Sure,” I said. “Yes, yes.” I turned my face around, and he hugged me close. My eyes were shut when I felt his lips reach down to meet mine. His tongue entered my mouth, lightly, with the slightest pressure. I resisted for a split second, then opened my mouth a little more and pressed my own tongue against his.
We broke off and just smiled at each other. “That was nice,” I said. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.,” he said. I was really shaken up, like, OMG, what am I doing. But at that moment, it felt unavoidable, like I was swimming in the ocean and I was being carried along by a giant wave.”
"February 14: Valentine’s Day. Scott was so sweet: he left a box of chocolates and a lovely card on my pillow. It was the first thing I saw when I woke up. We cuddled in bed for a few minutes before I had to get up. My call time wasn’t too bad today. I got to the set at around 8 am and saw Corey as I made my way to my trailer. He came up behind me and very slyly kissed me on the neck, spun me around, and handed me a single red rose. I put in a jar next to the mirror. When the cast came in for their makeup, all of them asked who had given me the rose. I said it was a secret admirer. I’m a lucky girl to have the attention of two great guys.”
I stopped reading and placed the notebook on the floor. I felt the air draining from my lungs and a churning inside the pit of my stomach.
A warning bell went off in my head. No good could come from reading any further. I ignored that warning. picked up the notebook and continued.
"February 16: I was alone in the makeup trailer when Corey came in, just after we broke for lunch. This time, he didn’t pause to ask permission. I wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug and held me for a minute without saying a word. I could feel his erection growing as he pressed against me, his cock hardening against my stomach. “You’re beautiful,” he said, as he pressed me hard against his body, his hands reaching behind me and gently grabbing the the globes of my ass. I could feel his breath on my neck, and I turned my head to kiss him hard on the mouth. I watched his reflection in the mirror as his hands wandered from beneath my sweatshirt and, raising it up, they began to lightly massage my breasts, moving back and forth across my nipples, which quickly stiffened from his touch. My hand reached between us to feel for his cock, then slipped down to undo his zipper. Without thinking, I dropped to my knees, reached up to unbuckle his jeans, pulled his briefs and his jeans down along his thighs and took his hard cock in my hands, then in my mouth. It felt enormous, so much bigger than Scott's!
My breasts were heaving, and my pussy was soaking as I licked along the shaft of his penis, using my tongue to swirl around the head, feeling him respond, gently at first, then with controlled force as he pumped in and out of my mouth, feeling the pressure of my lips. He began to fuck my mouth with increasing rhythm and I could feel his cock hitting the back of my throat. I cupped his balls with my left hand, and my right moved with the up and down motion of my mouth, adding to his arousal. It took him less than five minutes before I felt his hips begin to shake, his balls to tighten ever so slightly and his big cock to erupt in my mouth. He came a lot: it filled my mouth and I swirled it around before I swallowed. His taste was different from Scott’s (although I haven’t tasted Scott’s in a long time. It tasted a little like cream of mushroom soup, but saltier, spicier. I usually don’t like the taste and texture of cum in my mouth, but this was interesting and not unpleasant.
He pulled me up and gave me a hug, thanked me and tentatively kissed my lips (but careful, I noticed, not to open his mouth. I guess he doesn’t like the idea of tasting his own cum.) `To be continued,’ he said. `I owe you one.’
We held hands as we left the trailer but dropped them before we walked over to the lunch tables. We both knew we had to be careful around the rest of the cast and crew."
I put the notebook down and returned it very carefully to the drawer, folding her clothes over it and leaving it exactly as I found it before closing the drawer.
How to describe the physical sensation I felt at that moment? It’s sounds cliched to say it was like being gut-punched, but it was like that and more. Combine the feelings you have on a roller coaster when it makes its g-force plunge down the first big loop and the deep, soul-shaking nausea that comes with extreme seasickness. I had to lie down and close my eyes, imagining my wife’s lips wrapped around a stranger’s penis, imagining her green eyes wide open, gazing playfully up at his face as she licked and sucked and bobbed her head up and down with unbridled, ecstatic lust.
Tears formed in my eyes, and I began to silently weep. And then, against my will, I felt a stirring, a stiffening in my cock. And without thinking, I wrapped my own hands around it and began to slowly jerk off. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure an image of my wife’s lover. She said he was “sexy.” What did that mean? Was he devastatingly handsome? Gracefully athletic? I didn’t know his hair color, or even his ethnicity or race. Was he light or dark? It didn’t make a difference: all I saw was his colorless cock, apparently bigger than mine, with Abbie’s lips wrapped around it, her head bobbing up and down and her tongue swirling around. I imagined him experiencing the pure pleasure of an illicit first-time blowjob. I couldn’t help it: my right hand moved faster and faster and I felt the oncoming spasm.
With a series of powerful spurts, I sprayed the slipcover on our couch. I didn’t care about the stain. Fuck it, I thought. That damage is small potatoes compared to the wreckage of my life. I felt the unfamiliar sensation of anger rising inside my gut, morphing into an argument with myself. No, I thought. I’m going to work this out with Abbie. We’re not going to fight about this. There will be no screaming match. We’ll deal with it like a couple of adults.
A routine began to take shape. On Thursday and Friday nights, when Abbie usually came home late, I’d slide open her dresser drawer and carefully pull out the diary, making sure not to ruffle the sweatshirts and knit tops she had placed around it. I’d flip through pages carefully, looking for the newest entries but not wanting to leave any folds or signs of wear. At first, I’d just sit on the floor, my back propped against the dresser’s front side. As the days passed, I switched to reading it in bed, propped up against our pillows, at first with my fly opened, later with my jeans and briefs pulled down to my ankles. The entries became more graphic as the weeks went by.
"March 3: We were shooting out at Vasquez Rocks today, among the big piles of jagged sandstone. C. pulled me out during the lunch break and had me follow him to a secluded spot he knows, a few hundred yards away from the set. He pulled me close and kissed me, then worked his way down my body, nuzzling and kissing his way along my breasts and down to the top of my jeans. I stiffened for a moment and looked around to make sure we were alone. I allowed him to unbuckle my belt and slide my jeans and undies down with one big tug.
The weather was chilly and although the rock formations protected us from the wind, the cool air on my pussy made me feel totally exposed. He placed his coat, neatly on the ground in front of an enormous rock and we dropped slowly to the ground together. His hands roamed underneath my purple hoodie, pushing my bra up and cupping my breasts. My nipples were hard and incredibly sensitive as he sucked on one, then the other. His right hand was massaging my mound and then his fingers began to explore me there.
Slowly, his head slid down, his tongue travelling along my belly, between my legs, the tops of my thighs. And then he reached my slit, licking up and down, his tongue pushing my lips apart but seeming to deliberately avoid my clit. I started to slowly buck my hips, lapping at it while his hand reached around to grab my ass and pull me closer to his mouth. That’s when his tongue found my clitoris, pushing hard against it while a finger slipped inside my vagina. I was bucking and undulating pretty hard by then, feeling a climax coming on, when I felt his index finger pressing against my asshole. I stiffened because I’ve never been comfortable with anal play, but then my orgasm came over me like a tidal wave. It was huge!
A moment later, weirdly, I heard a footstep close by. When I looked up, I saw one of the zombie extras turn away in embarrassment. I must have jumped three feet in the air as I yanked up my jeans. C. was laughing as I straightened up. It was so embarrassing! Only in Hollywood do you have to worry about zombie voyeurs! At least I got an orgasm! The mood was effectively broken, but we agreed we’d resume right after work. And we did. It was incredible. More to come."
I re-read that diary entry three or four times, jerking off as I imagined Abbie with her pussy exposed, the bastard assistant director licking her clit. I was jealous and turned on at the same time, and I stroked until I came, catching the ejaculation in a wash towel.,
For the first time, I was moved to get beyond my discomfort with conflict. I wanted to confront Abbie, but it was hard to break through my innate passivity, and I had a fear of of doing something I’d regret. I loved her, and I was afraid of losing her completely. I was struggling to contain a jumble of emotions. Anger was there, of course, and there was the fear of losing a marriage that was still deeply important to me. There was the embarrassment of admitting that I had violated her privacy and read from her diary. And there was the hope that she’d break it off with her lover, come clean with me, and we’d both live happily ever after without have a confrontation.
I hated those practical considerations also played into my predicament: I still hadn’t found any work, and I felt as if I were in a vulnerable position. My unemployment insurance didn’t go very far, so we were paying our bills out of Abbie’s paycheck. And, finally, though I was ashamed to admit it, maybe, just maybe, there was the slightest bit of titillation in knowing she was fucking someone else and reading all about it in graphic detail. I began to spiral into a feeling of utter inadequacy, a feeling of cowardice for not confronting her, the shame of masturbating as I read the details of her infidelity.
It was Wednesday before I peeked inside her notebook again.
"March 23: I went to Corey’s house after we wrapped today. Corey’s living room is dominated by his drum kit. He toured and recorded with a few relatively big groups before getting into the film business and he still jams with friends from time to time. I think being a drummer is what makes him such a good lover. His sense of rhythm and timing is probably the element that sends me over the top. I’ve never had orgasms so consistently as I do with Corey.
He showed me around for just a few minutes, but we didn’t want to waste any time. It was the first time we’d made love on a proper bed, and since I had to get home, we wanted to make the most of the little time we had. Before we lay down, his hand caressed the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and then he was stroking my clef, right through my jeans and my soaking thong. I could feel myself becoming wetter and wetter, and I squirmed with pleasure as he slipped his hand under my jeans and managed to wriggle a finger inside me. It was soon joined by a second one that pulled my lips apart. The feeling was amazing.
We moved over to the bed, sinking into it together. He moved his head down slowly to kiss my belly and the top if my little patch of pubes just beneath it. After unsnapping my jeans, he began to pull them down while I lifted my ass enough to allow for their smooth removal. I watched the top of his head dive down between my legs again. They were shaking as his tongue found my swollen clit. He’s so good at that! I wish he could give lessons to Scott. It didn’t take long before the feeling began to build and build and build to a crescendo. My body felt as if it were exploding with a mind-blowing orgasm." `
So that’s why she was so late on Wednesday night.
I needed to know what this fellow Corey looked like. In my mind, I pictured a tall, athletic guy with dark hair, the kind of George Clooney look-alike that Abbie seemed to be attracted to. I searched through her call sheet to find a last name: Corey Mayhew, second assistant director. And I went looking on Instagram to see if I could find a picture. No luck. There were a couple of silhouetted photos, a few pictures of a dog. He wasn’t much into social media.
Our sex life had tapered off dramatically and, without question, Abbie had grown more distant. On a Monday evening in early March, Abbie came home early enough for us to share a dinner. I had cooked a pan of her favorite lasagna and opened a bottle of good Barolo wine. I dished some out in her plate and asked her, as casually as possible.
“You’ve seemed far away these days, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?
“No, not really, Scott. This has been a difficult show. So much work, so many make-ups to do, and they keep changing the script, so we never seem to have any down time. I’m sorry if I seem to be ignoring you. There’s just so much on my mind, and I’m always exhausted,” she said.
I looked at her face for some sign of discomfort, some signal that she felt badly about lying so brazenly to my face. I saw nothing. I wanted to scream, `Why are you doing this?’ but I held my tongue.
“Do you still love me?” I asked instead, still trying to sound casual.
Abbie reached across the table and took both my hands in hers. Her blue eyes never looked more beautiful as she looked straight into mine.
“With all my heart,” she said.
Things seemed to settle down a little after that conversation. There were no new journal entries for a few days and Abbie seemed a little more affectionate, hugging me a bit tighter as she came and went to work, acting more cheerful around the house. The following Monday, we ate our dinner together and talked about the latest Almodovar movie and about the Richard Powers novel we’d both just read.
And then we moved to our living room, to the couch, and we switched on the TV. I preferred to watch movies on our TV nights, but Abbie preferred episodic serials, so we were watching the second season of “Boardwalk Empire” for the second time around when, without thinking, my left hand reached across to grab her thigh. She took my hand in hers and we stayed like that for about five minutes before I broke our clasp and brought my hand to her shoulder. I drew her closely to me and kissed her on the neck, and she turned her neck to face me and kissed me on the mouth. I thought that maybe she had broken it off with Corey. After being emotionally absent for these past weeks, maybe she was back.
But as my right hand reached out to draw her closer, I felt her stiffen, just slightly, and then, as I took a breath, I could smell it. It was almost imperceptible, and it would surely be undetectable to anyone else. But for me, it was unmistakable. I quietly sniffed again, pointing my nose at near her armpit. Abbie smelled different.
I opened my mouth as we kissed, and my hand moved to her breast, as it always does when I initiate sex. “I’m really sorry, Scott,” said Abbie, pulling away from my embrace. “I’m still cramping from my period. Give me a few more days, please. I’m really sorry.” By that time, I’d become accustomed to sex deprivation. My penis stayed rock hard when we finally went to sleep.
Then, in late April, we both got good news.
I got a job that would start the first of May, a six-week feature shoot that would end pretty much at the same time as Abbie’s show. It was low budget, but still, it was work, and there was the possibility that it would lead to another gig with the same production company later that summer. Abbie was in a cheerful mood and could barely contain herself as I told her my news.
“I have news, too,” she said. “But it’s good news and bad news. I got an offer to work on a feature over the summer, starting just three weeks after this show wraps. The good news is that it pays better than this job, an eight-week shoot for almost double scale. But the bad news is that it’s all on location, and I’ll be in Montana for the whole time. But we do need the money, and maybe you can come up and visit after your show wraps. They’re putting the whole crew up at a dude ranch near Yellowstone, so if you come on a weekend, it’ll be fun.’
"April 28: We wrapped early yesterday so I stopped off at Corey’s house on the way home. I had told Scott that we might be shooting late, so we had a few hours before I’d have to get going. We talked seriously for a few minutes before we got into bed. Corey was very honest: he let me know there were other ladies in his life, and there was still a possibility that he’d get back with his wife. They’d been separated for almost a year. I was a little hurt at first, but as a cheating married lady, I couldn’t hardly complain. And anyway, I’ve always planned on remaining with Scott after this affair peters out, as I’m sure it probably will after this show wraps.
Our talk didn’t do much to dampen our horniness. We both stood up together and Corey wrapped his arms around me, holding me very close, before leading me with both hands into his bedroom. He turned on a speaker and found an Etta James playlist, and we just held on to each other for a few minutes, swaying to her singing “At Last.” For once, we were enjoying a romantic moment instead of pure sexuality, and maybe it was because the realization that this temporary relationship would be soon ending thing made it feel more special. Corey unbuttoned my top, really slowly, and I helped him take it off.
He swung his arm behind me and unclasped my bra as I reached down and grasped his rock-hard erection, still enclosed within his jeans. We stepped apart for a moment then, took off the rest of our clothes and rolled onto his bed. I lay flat, my head on his pillow, and Corey leaned above me, kissing me and softly caressing my breasts, one at a time. I had had his cock in my hand and, knowing we had only a few hours, I didn’t want to waste too much time. If the experience of this amazing cock was coming to an end, I wanted to make the most of every second with it. Enough with the foreplay, I thought. I wanted more than one fuck out of this encounter! I pulled him on top of me and guided him inside. I surprised myself at how worked up I was. My legs came off the mattress, and my feet clasped behind him, as if to draw him deeper inside me.
He began to slide in and out with that slow, easy rhythm I love so much, the walls of my vagina hugging that wonderful cock, my breath quickening as I felt an orgasm coming on. His pace was quickening as my body shuddered with my cum and two or three minutes later, I heard him growling as his body tensed and he ejaculated inside me. I realized that we hadn’t used a condom and had a moment of nervousness. I want to start a family, but I’m not ready yet., And I it’s important that Scott be the father.
I think Scott senses that something is up. He seems a little more needy than usual and he’s asking questions about our relationship. But he’s being non-confrontational as usual, and even if he knew the truth, I think he’d probably contain his anger. I’m sure I could make him accept the situation, but I really don’t want to hurt him. I love him and hope we’ll stay married, even if I get the urge to have a little something in the side from time to time.
Soon, this fooling around with Corey will come to an end, and I’ll be a thousand miles away in Montana. Before I leave, I’ll make it up to Scott with lots of extra attention. In the meantime, I’m just having a lot of fun. It may sound selfish, but I know I deserve it."
The possibility that Abbie might have been impregnated by her lover raised my discomfort and anxiety levels to new heights. I found myself crying in my sleep sometimes when Abbey turned away from me and curled up on her side of the mattress.
I began to drop hints in our conversations, thinking that maybe she’d take the bait and come clean. “So is there any romance among the crew members of on this shoot?” I asked, casually, dropping the question over a Sunday morning breakfast.
Abbie chewed on one the pancakes I’d made for her, reached for the bottle of maple syrup and stayed quiet for just a moment before answering. “Not really,” she lied. “You know, the crew guys are always flirting with the women, even the married ones, and they can be such dogs. It’s like the whole `me, too’ thing never happened: they’re always talking about chasing pussy and wondering if this or that actress would give great blowjobs. They’re pretty disgusting,” she said, as she drizzled a thin stream on the brown liquid on her plate. This time, she looked me straight in the eye as she lied to my face and cut off a piece of pancake with her fork. It was painful to watch her become such a skilled cheater. Was I finally losing her?
In mid-May, we had a late dinner with our friends Charles and Michelle at a new Italian place in Silverlake. They had just returned from a vacation in Huatulco, Mexico, and were raving about the all-inclusive hotel where they stayed. Abbie nudged me as we split an order of tiramisu. Her show was due to wrap at the end of June, and mine wouldn’t start until the second week of July. We would both be free for two weeks, and it had been quite a while since we’d had a proper vacation.
Abbie nudged me and gave me her best pleading look. “Can’t we go?”
Charles and Michelle chimed in. “You’d love it,” said Michelle. “And we could take your dog for a week.”
“Take me there, Scott,” said Abbie. “I’ve worked so hard, and I’ve been carrying us these past few months. There’s been a lot of pressure. Please.”
I told her we’d think about it, though she knew there really wouldn’t be much debate. We drove home without much conversation. Later, when we went to bed, I rolled over to her side of the bed and kissed her neck. She turned over to meet my embrace and parted her legs just slightly, enough so I could slide my hand up and along her thighs.
The feel of her legs with their soft satin skin made me groan with longing, and we kissed, deeply, for the first time in weeks. God, it felt good to feel her skin against mine! Her long red-brown hair tumbled into my face as she rolled over on top of me, her right hand reaching beneath to grasp my swelling erection. I buried my face in her breasts, my mouth clamping to one, then the other hardening nipple. Now, her right hand guided me between the lips of her vulva and I she slid herself down my cock, first leaning forward until I was all the way inside, then leaning back and riding me, slowly at first, then faster. I felt her rubbing her clit on the base of my penis, her eyes shut tightly, focusing intensely on the sensations she was feeling.
My eyes were wide open as I pumped upward to meet her thrusts. And then she brought her right hand to her clitoris, rubbing it furiously as she continued to ride me. My eyes were open and sensation of her vagina grasping my cock, the visual of her hand bringing herself off, her firm, lovely breasts undulating with her movement, all of it rocketed me to a crescendo of intense feeling. I think we came at pretty much the same time: a rare moment in our six-year relationship. It was possibly the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced. The thought crept into my mind that maybe, just maybe, all that sex with Corey had made her a more skillful lover. I hated to think that way.
She was still wrapped up in my arms, and it was wonderful to feel her bare skin against mine. I breathed in the sweet scent of her skin mixed with our sweat and the musky smell of sex. I felt myself stirring once again.
“I think I’m getting me period,” she said.
I didn’t say anything to express my relief. Instead, I spoke directly into the ear beneath my chin. “OK, I said. “Let’s go to Huatulco when your show wraps. I think it will be good for both of us to get away for a while.”
"May 20: My dream was so vivid. We were lying on our side, one arm around me. He was caressing my breast with one hand and then he let moved that arm down, slowly along my body, touching me softly, moving between my legs and slowly, gently, slipping his fingers inside, determined to make me cum. I could feel my pussy clenching around them as his forehead pressed against mine, as if we were trying to merge our heads into one being. I parted my legs, and I could feel him, rock hard, pushing between them, looking for my opening. I could feel myself on the brink and then my eyes opened., I wasn’t sure at first if it were a dream, but I was spooning Scott, pushing hard against him, and he woke up and turned towards me. I was so worked up that I jumped on top of him, grabbing his cock with one hand and finding it already mostly aroused, I slipped it inside. I came quickly while riding him, still feeling the effects of my dream.
Scott came a little later, with a puzzled look on his face. He couldn’t quite figure out where the sudden passion came from. It was good to give him an impromptu orgasm. I’ve had a good time with C., and I know I’ll miss him terribly when this show wraps, but it’s time to end this affair. Scott may be a bit of a wimp, but he’s a good solid guy and he’s the man with whom I want to have children and start a family. Plus, being married to him means I can do pretty much anything I want on the side. It's perfect! I really don’t want to lose him."
It really stung to read those words. I thought our lovemaking was a sign that she’d really come back to me. Instead, it had been mistaken identity sex: she had been cheating on me even in her dreams. And it hurt to know how little respect Abbie had for me.
Later that week, Abbie’s show had a couple of shooting days in the Antelope Valley, almost 30 miles away from the city. The company had arranged motel accommodations for cast and crew, and Abbie would be spending Thursday night there and, possibly Friday, if the shoot went too late for her to drive home. This was not a new situation: these arrangements were common in our line of work. After dinner on Wednesday evening, I walked past our bedroom as she was packing her overnight bag. I saw her sneak a sexy black negligee into the suitcase. I thought she might have seen me looking at it, because she closed the suitcase quickly and turned to ask me if I’d heard the weather report.
"June 6: C and I checked into the motel separately, hoping to avoid being seen by any other members of the crew. I know that Jimmy in the sound department and a couple of others suspect that we’re having an affair, but we’re both still really trying to be careful. As soon as I got settled, I changed into that negligee I’ve been saving. C snuck up to my door about 15 minutes and he flipped out when he saw me. I think his cock went 09 to 60 in about five seconds.
He could barely slip his jeans and briefs down past his erection. I pulled the bedspread off the mattress (hotel bedspreads are so creepy!) and greeted him with an opening kiss. He drew me close and embraced me, and then we kissed passionately, our lips and tongues meeting tenderly and my breasts pressing against his chest before we drew each other down to the mattress. Corey lifted my negligee over my head while I
fumbled with his belt and pulled his jeans and briefs down his legs. He kicked off his pants and I wasted no time in grabbing for his cock. I was anxious to get the evening started.
We made love three times last night and I finally allowed him to take me in the ass. He kept his promise: he was very gentle, stroking my upper thighs and the lower curves of my ass. I felt my breathing becoming labored as he applied a gob of lube to my anus and another to his cock before trying to ease past my sphincter. God it felt so big! We were in missionary, and he held my legs up with his left arm while he guided his cock in with his right hand. I bit my lip as I felt him pushing in. It hurt a lot for about 30 seconds, but the pain eased and gradually,
I felt myself surrender to the intensity of the feeling. I reached for my clit with my right hand and began to rub it slowly, then quickly as he picked up the pace, fucking me hard, his eyes practically glowing as he leaned upwards and watched his own cock pumping in and out of my ass. I came with my hand furiously playing across my clit and his orgasm came a few seconds later, coming with a grunt and a final push deep inside me.
In my mind’s eye, I imagined his cock spurting cum deep within my guts. It was a weird sensation. I’m not sure that I want to repeat it, certainly not too often. But it was certainly a memorable experience and at least I can’t get pregnant that way. I’ve never let Scott do that with me, and I can’t imagine I ever will. He would freak out if he knew someone else did. Do I feel guilty about Scott? A little. But this production is almost wrapped and life will go back to normal.
Corey spooned against my back as we slept, his arm splayed out above my head on the pillow. The light of sunrise was beginning to appear outside the motel window as I reached back with my left hand and felt for his penis. I didn’t want to wake him up quite yet, but I needed to feel it in my hand. I could feel him stirring, and I could feel his breath quickening, just slightly, on my neck. His cock was hard now, and he slipped it between my thighs.
We stayed like that for a few minutes, maybe longer, and then he was moving his hips against me. I parted my legs and moved my hand down to guide him inside me. I pushed against him, and we began to rock together on our sides, really gently. I could feel my orgasm building quickly, and then I came first, but I kept moving, quickening the pace, until he came inside me with a last push. We both started laughing for no particular reason, just from relief and pleasure, and then C. got up to brush his teeth and boil some water in the kettle for motel coffee. The coffee was terrible, but it was an amazing way to start the day. Not enough sleep, though. I’m exhausted!"
Abbie arrived home just before noon on Saturday. I ran some errands while she took a nap. We had a quiet dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant and went straight home to watch some TV. At bedtime, she placed her hand on my shoulder. “Look, I really need to just get some more sleep tonight. It’s been a horrendous week on the set and I am thoroughly pooped. Is that OK?”
“Sure,” I said. “Get some rest.” I kissed the top of her head and rolled over, my hand stroking my semi-hard penis until I drifted off to sleep.
Both of our shows wrapped at the end of June, mine a few days before hers. Abbie came home that last week and very apologetically told me that spouses were not invited to the “Zombies Rule the Earth” wrap party. Although I knew it was total bullshit, I chose not to argue the point. Anyway, we were leaving the following morning for our vacation, and I planned on packing while Abbie was at her party.
The flight to Huatulco was uneventful. Abbie had come home late having enjoyed, I was pretty sure, a farewell fuck with Corey and she was yawning in the Uber we took to the airport. Her head fell against my shoulder on the flight. She was out cold. I looked down at her sleeping face and was happy that I hadn’t created a conflict that would cause me to lose her. We were back together now, and I hoped we would stay that way.
Our room at the very swank Las Brisas Resort overlooked the beach, affording us a sweeping vista of white sand and blue ocean reaching out to infinity. We stood by the window and hugged, grateful for this respite from work and the pressures of city life. We had overpacked, as always, taking way too much stuff for our week-long vacation, but as Abbie emptied her big suitcase, I caught sight of the notebook tucked into one of the suitcase pockets. I don’t know why it surprised me at the time, but it was a stark reminder of how I’d have to find some way of repairing our marriage and re-establishing some degree of trust. After recoiling for a moment, I reconsidered. I thought it might be good for her to add passages about our vacation together, to document our coming together as a married couple.
Abbie was too tired to make love that first night and honestly, so was I. After a good, long night’s sleep and an indulgent breakfast, we checked out some masks, some fins and some oversized beach towels from the resort’s beachside stand and found two chaise lounge chairs on the sands of the hotel’s beach. We spread out our towels before lying down to soak up the tropical sun, and I pushed our chairs closer as I lay beside her. She rolled over, and I reached out my hand to find hers.
We stayed that way for a few moments, gripping each other’s hands like high school sweethearts. It was a good idea to come here, I thought. It had been a good idea to avoid confronting her about her affair, now that the show had wrapped and the gravitational pull that drew Abbie to her lover was behind her. Someday, maybe, she’ll confess the whole episode and express her tearful contrition. If we were to spend our lives together, we’d have to come to a place of honesty. With time and distance, the hurt she had inflicted on me would heal, I thought. I knew I would have to process Abbie’s infidelities at some point, but I didn’t want to ruin our vacation. In the meanwhile, we had our marriage. We had this moment. It was good.
Abbie asked me to rub some lotion on her back, unclamping the back of her bikini top to provide never more access. I was happy to feel the velvet smoothness of the skin, to admire the outlines of her spine and treat my eyes to the lovely curve of her hips, the round globes of her bikini covered ass. My bathing suit began to tent as I gazed upon the narrow band of fabric that curved beneath those gloves and barely covered her vagina. Later. I thought. I’ll pull that bathing suit off, and we’ll shower together. I’ll slide my hand beneath those long legs and dip my fingers into that sweet, sweet pussy. We’d feast on lobster at the hotel’s restaurant, enjoy an after-dinner drink on the oceanfront veranda, head up to our bedroom, and then I’d feast on Abbie. We’d have a marathon sex session in that perfectly firm king-sized bed.
I was soon sweating in the tropical heat of the sun. I rose from the chaise to wipe my forehead with a hand towel. “I’m going to do a little snorkeling out on those rocks and cool off,” I said, pointing to a group of large rocks in the ocean just near the shoreline. Want to join me?”
Abbie’s eyes closed as she shook her head. “No, you go ahead. Have fun,” she said.
I grabbed my mask and fins and walked along the Las Brisas Hotel beachfront and reflected that the sand’s shade of white was not unlike Abbie’s skin tone, the blue of the ocean not unlike her eyes. Abbie had been too tired to do more than sleep when we arrived the previous evening. Tonight, we’d both be rested.
The sand was hot beneath my feet, and I walked quickly to the water’s edge, gratefully stepping into the soothing ocean. The water was a perfect temperature: refreshingly cool but warm enough to invite a soak. I swam out about 39 yards and rolled over on my back, still thinking of Abbie, the feel of her skin as I lathered her back with lotion. Daydreaming about the afternoon and evening ahead, my penis stirred from the sheer delight of the moment.
Snorkeling among the rocks just 30 yards off the beach, schools of yellow grunts and red cardinal fish, I gingerly avoided a poisonous stone fish with a forceful kick of my fins. As the clear Pacific waters soothed me, some clarity began to filter through my mind. I had been a coward, but maybe now it was time to regain some self-esteem, to confront Abbie, to affirm the integrity of our marriage. Had I been afraid of being kicked to the curb? Maybe so. But now, with a new job, new confidence, it was time to bring the truth out in the open. I would wait, I decided, until we were back in L.A. No sense in ruining this much-needed vacation.
I snorkeled for almost an hour before I’d had enough. I swam back to shore. As I made my way through the hot sand, I spotted our chaise lounges in the distance. Abbie wasn’t there. All of her things were gone. I guessed she’d gone back to the room. Her pale, redhead skin couldn’t tolerate very much sun, even with a sunscreen.
The hotel’s air-conditioning hit me with a welcoming blast as I came in from the heat of the Mexican summer. I rode the elevator to our fourth-floor room, then back to the lobby. There was no sign that Abbie had been there. The entrance to the bar was a few steps from the front desk. I peered inside.
There she was, still wearing the little sun dress she had worn out to the beach.
She looked up from her pina colada as I approached.
Seated next to her was a short guy with a receding hairline wearing a broad, toothy grin. His shirt was open to the waist, and a bit of hairy belly paunch folded over the waist of his shorts.
“Scott, can you believe that a friend from the show we just wrapped picked the same vacation spot? Corey, this is my husband, Scott. Scott, this is our second A.D., Corey.
And- really amazing!- it turns out he’ll be working with me in Montana. It will be so good to have a friend out there.”
Corey extended his right hand. “Nice to meet you, Scott. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Really?” I said, ignoring his outstretched hand. “What is it that you’ve heard?
The world around me slowed down to slow motion, and I could feel an otherworldly darkness overcoming me, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in many years. I was back on that basketball court so many years ago. My hand curled into a hard ball of bare knuckles…
