Greater Expectations (21 page)

27

Heartbroken Heartbreaker

Thursday 2nd April

The newspaper headline perfectly achieved its
objective, as it was the only one that stood out to me among the myriad of others at the newsstand. As I had been wandering through the service station in search of the toilets–never an easy and always a thankless task–
“BETRAYED”
was the single word that grabbed my attention and piqued my curiosity, demanding further investigation. It was simply the latest in the never ending cycle of “stories” where some celebrity that I have never heard of has been caught cheating on yet another celebrity that I have never heard of. This is now what masquerades as “news”. The headline had successfully seduced and duped me as, for a few seconds at least, I actually found myself interested in this non-story.

Yet it was a story that resonated and festered within me, dredging up my own all too recent memories, and dragging me back there again.

This “betrayal” was of the more conventional man cheating on woman scenario rather than that of my own experience. It seems more understandable to me when men cheat rather than women. Dare I say almost more
natural
? That does not mean to say that it is
acceptable
. There is the common misconception that men cheat for the extra sex when, in my experience, it’s not really that at all. For me, men cheat because the actual act of cheating is “sexy” rather than the physical act of sex. Don’t get me wrong, the sex itself is nice but it's the ego boost of actually succeeding in seducing, and so playing, multiple women rather than the pursuit of sex itself.

It’s also that feeling of being yearned for, desired, and wanted that is truly intoxicating.

It may seem childish, immature, and maybe even overly simplistic, but feeling this way is a fundamental instinct that needs to be nurtured and cultivated within us men. Certainly within this man. For such feelings genuinely make us men feel like, well,
men
. Women seem to misunderstand this and so, with the discovery of any such infidelity, demand to know what the other woman has that she hasn’t, what the other woman can do that she cannot? Of course, this only leads to more trouble for those men caught cheating who simply have no real rational nor logical response. How can we possibly state that we just yearned to feel wanted and desired? It makes us sound stupid, weak, and vulnerable and the last thing any woman wants from her man is to think that he is anything other than Superman. The strong protector of her and their family. In such circumstances, men try and save face by explaining the infidelity away with stupid and untrue statements like
“well, she seemed more interested in me and was way more attentive to my needs”
or
“she was just more exciting”
, or some other equally absurd nonsense.

This is yet another instance where a man will sacrifice a perfectly good relationship through lies rather than fight for it with truth.

There is also the old saying that “familiarity breeds contempt” and this is certainly true. The longer a relationship endures and the more familiar you become with each other, the more likely you are to take each other for granted. For some, this provides comfort and reassurance, for others, it’s simply boring. Any opportunity to escape this monotony is warmly welcomed. I doubt that there is a greater challenge than maintaining a monogamous relationship in this era where sex has never been easier found nor harder to hide from.

My understanding of why women cheat, and on this subject I am far from an expert, is altogether more complex. Another quick web search was required in my efforts of trying to understand Gemma’s actions. It would seem that the number one motivator for female infidelity is loneliness. This can be lonely within the family environment, where spending so much time together ensures that there is nothing left to talk about. Then there is the other extreme, as it was for Gemma, of those women who are lonely and alone, away from home. Trying to maintain a distance relationship using a telephone or video chat is possible. At least, that was the assurance given from this particular website although, cynically
, I choose not to believe them.

I don't want nor need to believe that others can, and have, succeeded where I ha
ve failed.

To be fair to Gemma’s suitor, there is an altogether different thrill in successfully seducing a married woman. They seem to be even more alluring and appealing given that this is a greater challenge
–the “forbidden fruit” –as it were. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, “I can resist all but temptation”. To that end, I understand why she cheated. My understanding does not, however, excuse her infidelity nor make it any more acceptable to me. In fact, I can imagine exactly how her lover manipulated the situation to seduce her.

Indeed, I have all too often enjoyed sadistically tormenting myself with exactly this thought
since discovering their affair.

He would extend the drink invitation after work as they both only have empty houses to go back to so why not? Such a drink would allow them to enjoy each others company for the better part of the evening rather than sitting in alone and staring at four walls, waiting for the night to pass. He would add that he would never encroach on someone’s relationship and so ensure it all sounded harmless and innocent. After all, he also had a “girlfriend”
–he would claim one even if he didn’t.

As such, hi
s virtue would beyond question.

Those first few nights develop to dinner. Why not? After all, they are now good friends. Maybe even the cinema as there is a movie that he “really wants to see” and, before long, that develops to a bottle of wine and DVD as he “just wants to chill at home and could use the company”. From the
re, one thing leads to another.

I have seen and done it all before myself.

Yet when I had been on the receiving end of my own play, I did not like it. Never once had I considered the other men when I was the delighting in my role as the seducer. Rather, I had seen them all as fools and losers who should have had greater knowledge and understanding of their partners needs. Never once had I considered that they may have been genuinely nice guys who deserved better. Never once had I considered the pain and suffering that my aggressively pursuing and seducing their partners may cause. Why would I? After all, that was the women’s consideration and so all blame fell upon her.

Only now–
as I considered my own experience and thinking about how I would feel if it were to be flaunted so publicly as front page “news” –did I understand the error and tragedy of such immoral thinking.

In blissful ignorance, I had been caring for and tending my own marriage. Dutifully encouraging and supporting my wife’s career by working my ass off and, all the while, I was being beaten at my own game. It was me who was the unconsidered loser, the fool of their charade. I did not like it. Not at all. That familiar feeling of anger coursed through my veins once again as I imagined their trysts. It was proving impossible to not think of them together although I had never actually seen him. This only compounded my torment as my twisted imagination ran riot. Naturally, he had to be a Brad Pitt or David Beckham lookalike, with the intellect of Stephen Hawking. Surely he would have to be for him to be the better man than me.

I had seriously wanted to rip the little pricks head off and make him ugly. Thankfully, that never happened as I know now that I am actually more angry at myself and the person I was rather than at him, or even Gemma. This may well have been karma for all of my own indiscretions and, if so, it really is a bitch. However, all of my new found knowledge has done nothing to help me, and my amateur attempt at self help has proven to be anything but therapeutic.

All this introspection originating from a single word fucking headline in a newspaper?

It would seem that merely being divorced does not eradicate the pain. It wasn’t the magic wand I thought it would be. I do know that, with each passing reflection upon my past, that it does get easier. I also know that my days of being the heartbreaker are over now that I have experienced that heartbreak for myself.

I also know not to look at any fucking newspapers in future.

28

Enabled In The Disabled

Thursday 2nd April

Ed’s phone call came late in the afternoon but not a minute too soon. Another boring night with the television and a romantic microwave meal for one was all that awaited me as I was slowly meandering home from work. Thankfully these plans were changed in an instant as Ed told me that he, Taylor, and another guy they knew– “Tony” –were meeting up for a bar meal and asked if I wanted to join them.

It was perhaps the easiest decision I have ever had
to make.

Within ten minutes I was in their company and in my element, thriving in my self appointed role of court jester. “So she asks me if I like ‘rimming?’ and I had absolutely no idea what the fuck she was talking about. Naively, I thought that she must have meant ‘trimming’ so I told her that I like to keep myself ‘neat’. It was immediately apparent that something was amiss when she stopped licking my balls. Pulling my cock to the side, she looks up and gives me the most quizzical of looks. Seriously, it was the whole raised eyebrow effort, but she never said a word. It was quite an uncomfortable moment as I was feeling rather stupid but didn’t quite know why so I just smiled and gave her a nod. There was no time to give it too much thought as the next thing I know, her ton
gue was tonsil-deep in my
ass
!”

I had taken the usual liberties with the facts and details of my experience for comical effect. However, as the guys were laughing away at my ignorance, I wasn’t entirely convinced that they were any more enlightened. Not that it mattered. After all, why let the truth
get in the way of a good story.

“I got such a shock, my sphincter near guillotined her tongue!”

Although this new wave of laughter was expected and wanted, the seriousness of my statement was all too accurate. Until that most intimate moment, my experience of rimming had been very limited with no knowledge of what was actually happening to me. I most definitely did not know there was a name for it. As such, it was all but impossible to venture an honest opinion on the question of whether I liked it or not. There had been no time to properly consider her question before “Angela” had taken matters into her own hands, so to speak–although using an entirely separate appendage.

Yet it was disturbingly true that I actually did enjoy the experience.

Talk about a brain fuck. It had gone against every one of my natural instincts to have something go
into
my ass yet she had been so gentle. Her tongue soft, warm, and tender. Bizarrely, my repulsive impulses had been soundly defeated by the overriding sensation of pleasure that she had deftly provided. Not that I shared this particular nugget of information with the fellas. Some things are strictly private, even for me.

I continued with my story, safe in the knowledge that the guys could no longer tell the difference between fact and fiction. Not that it mattered for now they really could not have cared less. We were on our third round of drinks and we all just wanted a laugh. Telling them the full gory details of “Angela’s” anal orgasm also had the desired effect as both Taylor and Ed looked as if they might vomit. I couldn’t help but laugh, more so at their reaction than my recollection, but only until I looked at Tony.

He had a fixed smile but was staring at me with the most curious of looks.

Thankfully the moment passed when Taylor asked me if I have a new girl yet. I told him “no” but stopped myself short of telling both him and Ed about my recent subscription to a more conventional online dating site due to Tony’s unforeseen presence. In many ways, this registration was even more embarrassing and sensitive to me than the sex site as it demanded that I was altogether more truthful and honest in my profile.

Too honest for comfort, if truth be told.

Actually, it was cringeworthy. The very thought of it reminded me that it had been written immediately after my chat with Penny and so done with haste and upset. Never a good combination. Berating myself was becoming an unpleasant habit, and I had continually done so throughout the day over what I had submitted. It
was
brutally honest, too honest, in that it was undeniably virtuous and properly reflective of my ethics and morals. However it was also the ramblings of a bitter and resentful man. Even I could recognise that it was completely unappealing and so I had resolved to immediately amend it to reflect my warmer and more endearing attributes as soon as I was home.

Taylor took the opportunity to regale us with a parable that served as advice, specifically for me, regarding dating preparation. He assured us tha
t his story was completely true–
aren’t they all?
–and involved a female friend of his. Is it not the case the whole world over that these stories always happen to a “friend”, never actually the person relaying the story. Not that it matters of course, the sentiment of the story need never be compromised through trivial matters such as factual accuracies.

“Alice was my old neighbour across the hall when I lived up in Inverness.” I already found it highly amusing that he, quite literally, had been living next door to Alice. Yet he continued without making the reference. It’s not like Taylor to pass up such a golden opportunity, probably been said too many times before. “She had been keen on this lad she worked with for months and he finally agreed to a dinner date at her house. On the day in question, she had adhered to the usual feminine dating ritual of soaking in a bath then having a shower. Fuck
knows what
that
is all about.”

There were always funny quips contained within Mike’s stories and this was no exception. He took a drink and allowed us to sav
our the moment, then continued.

“So, it transpired that she had sneezed when she got out from the shower and, fearing a cold, quickly got herself dressed and then put the final touches to the meal. The lad duly turns up with the obligatory bottle of wine and they proceed to enjoy a pleasant night. Around three hours later, he left and she wanders into my house all delighted with herself. She tells me how great it was, how attentive he was, he is such a great listener and let her talk and talk. In her words, it was truly “magical” and he had promised to call and arrange to meet up again for another date in a few days time.”

Mike paused for effect although there really was no need, we were all enthralled.

“I just couldn’t look at her as she is telling me all this, throwing my eyes in every direction but hers. Although I had to be honest and tell her that she would never hear from him again. She thought it was a joke at first until she realised that I was serious. That made her understandably upset and she asked me why I would ever say such a horrible thing. Well rather than try and explain, I simply found a mirror and handed it to her. She fled my house in tears and never spoke to me for days, like it was my fucking fault.” Taylor sat back, took another drink and waited for one of us to ask the inevitable question.

Ed stepped up. “Why?” was all he needed to say.

“Well, when she had gotten out of her shower and sneezed, she had wiped her nose with her wrist and it had dragged the snot straight across her cheek where it had dried in. That poor lad had politely sat through an entire meal and drinks looking at dried snot stretching all over her face and she had known nothing about it!”

Taylor turned and looked at me through his empty pint glass, using it as a telescope. His hint was neither subtle nor discreet, and it was obviously my shout on the bell. He always knows whose round it is and is never shy in telling you. Yet another of his endearing qualities for the rounds always fall equally when you drink in his company. There are others who would happily go for a drink and always dart to the toilet when it is their turn to buy. Parasitic bastards. This cannot be said of Taylor.

He is always the first one to start the round.

As I was ordering at the bar, Ed came up to me and told me that Tony had just gotten a text from his wife and she was going to be here in five minutes to pick him up. So, could I get in a Gin and Tonic for her? Apparently Tony would give me the money when I got back to the table.
Who actually does that?
It was no big deal buying the extra drink and I would look like a proper dick if I actually took the money. However, to his credit, Tony played his part in the routine and duly offered. To complete the farce, I duly refused.

It was at that moment that Tony looked over my shoulder and said “hello love” to what was obviously his wife. Taylor and Ed were given quick introductions and I stood to turn in order to both be properly introduced and make space for her to sit. As she reached for my hand, I looked at her and froze as such an introduction was completely unnecessary.

It was “Angela”.

She smiled widely and shook my hand without any hesitation nor sense of recognition. Not a trace of shame either, none of which could be said for me. “Hello Z, nice to meet you.” She looked me straight in the eye as she said it. The last time I saw her, I was staring straight into a different eye and the recollection of her “wink” gave me a sudden, and very real, yearning for the bathroom.

The overwhelming recollection of that smell and taste making me instantly nauseous.

“Ple
asure” was all I could muster–my mouth seemingly full–before reclaiming my flaccid hand and excusing myself for the relative safety of the toilet. Double checking that the cubicle door was securely locked, I sat to take stock and compose myself rather than actually using the facility. In doing so, I quickly discovered that these bathrooms had been subject to modernisation with new sensor flushes replacing the standard handle. The water angrily gargled and rushed from the depths, my brain was simply too preoccupied to fully comprehend what was actually happening. I jumped up but it was too late, the water completely soaked my backside. Worse still, upon a mirrored inspection, the damp patch was surrounded by the perfectly dry border so ensuring a perfect imprint of the toilet bowl.

In my haste for privacy, I hadn’t actually dropped my trousers.

How could I explain this? Taking a long hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror, with every possible excuse for my predicament flashing through my head, my thoughts were interrupted by a female voice behind me.

“That’s twice you have embarrassed me.” The voice belonged to “Angela” who was stood in the door of the disabled cubicle that was closest to the bathroom entrance. So lost in my thoughts, I had been completely unaware of
her presence until that moment.

“Twice I’ve embarrassed you?” My voice relayed my incredulity that I was beyond disguising.
“Are you fucking kidding me?
You shat all over me
and
in my mouth and then hid in your toilet without giving me an opportunity to properly wash up. If anyone has the right to be pissed off here then it’s surely me.”

“Surely
you
? How do you figure?” She stood half behind the cubicle door. Obviously, she intended to step inside to hide should anyone else come in.

“Well it was obvious that you actuall
y came, I never even had that.”

“True. Well, we could always remedy that now…” She stepped further inside the cubicle and pulled up her loose skirt, revealing stockings and suspenders but no underwear. It was only now that I noticed the low cut top and her breasts looking like two bald men fighting for release.

“You are joking, right? Your husband is sat right outside, someone could come in here at any minute and my ass is soaked through yet you think that this is a good opportunity to get busy?” I could hear myself talking but yet here I was walking towards the cubicle with an all too familiar strain against my zipper.

“You need to be quick.” She said as she bent over the corner sink and ready for me. There was no need for any encouragement regarding time sensitivity. Whether it was the excitement of the location, the proximity of her husband, or
the simple fact of getting sex–whatever the reason–it seemed that I was spent in four strokes. Four wonderful, tantalising, depraved and perverted strokes.

As “Angela” cleaned herself up, I checked underneath the cubicle and saw that we were still alone. There was no way I could go back and sit with her husband and my friends and pretend that nothing had happened. Especially with still no feasible excuse for the tell tale imprint on my ass. Without saying another word, my escape route involved exiting through th
e smoking area to the car park.

In less than ten minutes I was home and, by nights end, I had successfully ignored the eight calls shared between Taylor and Ed. The only call I had accepted was the one that I immediately
wished that I had also ignored.

It was from Penny.

“Hey you, I’ve just found your inFATEuation profile…”