BRAIN STEW by TCct
My head was suddenly splitting; a quick searing pain just behind my eyes and spreading fast and rapidly increasing in intensity.
Fuck this hurt bad.
My vision blurred and my eyes ached as I sat at my desk staring at, but unable to focus on my laptop.
And God I was thirsty, my mouth was so dry. Parts of me felt numb but I couldn't really tell you which parts; my face, an arm? I couldn't be sure. I reached for my beer but missed it and knocked it over.
I couldn't process this. It made no sense.
And then it all made perfect sense.
I was feeling my brain functions slip away one at a time; I was as certain of that as I am of my own name; Jason Black.
Often, life, the cruel bitch she is, serves us shit sandwiches for lunch AND the twisted cunt manages to dupe us so that we ALWAYS take a bite!
Sometimes you get lucky and get away with only taking a small bite.
And sometimes you eat the whole fucking thing only to spend years trying to puke it out of your system.
At that moment I realized that I had just eaten an entire Dagwood Turd special!
In a flash there was a sharp, intense increase in the searing, white hot pain; I lurched forward, vomited and fell before everything calmed and went black.
I'm nothing special.
I am slightly above average in looks and intelligence and slightly below average in patience and social skills.
I was never a Navy Seal or black belt in any martial art. My short temper and above-average-but-below-genius level intelligence meant that I had enjoyed my fair share of fist fights growing up; I was too intelligent to put up with any shit but not smart enough to walk away from it.
I was never on the honor roll. I never started my own company, won the lottery, worked for the mob or opened a secret bank account in the Caymans. I was never a stand out in any way...ever.
I married a woman who, like me, wasn't anything overly special. Cathy is attractive, intelligent and mostly caring. She's not a walking wet dream, overtly flirty or a slut. She was attractive enough to me in all of the ways I deemed important.
We met, we married we had a son.
We had our share of ups and downs and mostly the scales balanced. We worked and saved, we fought and forgave and we raised our son. We knew balance and chaos in equal measure as only a long-time committed couple can. Sometimes we fought for a good reason and sometimes we fought because one of us was being stupid, selfish or just plain hard-headed. Sometimes we fought and found resolution; often we fought and simply agreed to disagree so that we might live to one day fight again...and again.
I smoke and drink too much and Cathy is a little self-centered and the poster child for passive aggression. Cathy argues her passive aggression is a result of my smoking and drinking and I argue that I drink and smoke because she's so damn passive aggressive. Round and round, on and on but somehow it all worked. Somehow we got along, loved one another and focused on our son, our relationship and each other.
We were happy.
Neither of us ever worked-out regularly but we have always been active and reasonably fit. We have always tried to eat well but we've never said no to a pizza because we worried about saturated fats.
Everything in moderation.
No one was ever going to write a love story about us. We were in love with each other but not obsessed with one another.
Our bedroom was never on fire - we did what we enjoyed as often as we enjoyed doing it.
No more, no less.
Early in our marriage we probably had sex 2 or 3 times a week but we never had any marathon sessions; once we both got off, that was it until the next time. Neither of us had a ton of experience before we met but neither of us were virgins. Her number of previous sexual partners was a little higher than mine but that never bothered me. I had never had trouble attracting women but I had been choosy about who I shared my bed with. Odd for a young man, I realize but that is how I was wired. I had to be into you to bed you so the fact my number wasn't higher was by choice not circumstance. As I said, Cathy was no slut so her slightly higher number simply didn't matter.
We fit well together, enjoyed one another and neither felt they were short changed.
Cathy had a very difficult pregnancy and birth with our son John and was left with a lot of vaginal scar tissue afterward. He was born at just over 10 pounds which proved a little much for Cathy's 5'3" frame.
There was a certain amount of pain involved with sex after that but we managed. After 28 years of marriage we still made love but never more than 2 or 3 times a month. Cathy was just as likely to initiate sex as I was and we rarely turned the other down when approached so I am certain that we had as much sex as we each wanted.
We were always affectionate with one another; that never waned. We still frequently held hands out in public or cuddled while we watched a movie.
We had a lot in common... and a lot of differences; we shared the same values and goals, enjoyed the same music and while we both enjoyed reading we never read the same books. Cathy hated television and rarely had the patience to sit through an entire movie and often as not we struggled to find something we'd both enjoy. She loved cooking and while I loathed cooking I didn't mind cleaning up. We both loved the outdoors and camping but while Cathy enjoyed bird watching, I wanted to fish or hike. We were alike where it mattered and our differences allowed us to embrace our individuality. It worked.
Becoming parents changed us both for the better.
When our son was born, I stretched my patience and worked on developing better social skills while Cathy became a little less self-centered and tried to be less passive aggressive where our son was concerned.
I joined Scouts with John while Cathy joined the PTA. We all attended church together and we made sure John was always active, happy and loved. Cathy was the disciplinarian while I provided measured guidance. We taught John the value of hard work and honesty, empathy and loyalty, and hope and faith in self and God.
And we were proud of the results.
We weren't perfect but we seemed to function perfectly together.
"Mr. Black, can you hear me? Mr. Black?"
I slowly scanned the room for the voice trying to lick my dry lips. Where was I? What the hell is going on? My eyes, out of focus, settled on something, or someone just to my right.
"Mr. Black, my name is Doctor Taylor. Do you know where you are?"
"brogggmmmthh." I slurred in response.
There was a pause.
"Mr. Black you have suffered a stroke. A Hemorrhagic stroke. You're in the Presbyterian Hospital. Do you understand?"
"graamannth"
What the fuck? My mouth wasn't working. I nodded my understanding.
"Good. Don't worry about your speech, Mr. Black. It appears you're suffering from a form of Aphasia as a result of your stroke. You've suffered some damage to the right side of your face - there is a slight drooping. At this point we can't determine if you have any other damage or if the Aphasia is a result of brain damage or because of the muscle damage to your face. When you regain some of your strength we'll be able to determine the extent and nature of your deficits and provide you with a more complete diagnosis and prognosis. It seems you are able to understand me though so I am hopeful..."
The doctor droned on for several more minutes about the surgery I underwent to isolate and stop the brain hemorrhage that he believed was responsible for my stroke.
I tried to focus my eyes on him. I tried to process what he was telling me. I tried but I simply drifted back off to a dreamless sleep.
A few days Later I awoke to find my son John sitting next to me in my hospital room.
I was still unable to focus my eyes enough to make him out clearly but I knew it was John. A Father just knows.
When he noticed I was looking at him, he took my hand, sniffed and tried to choke a few words out.
"Dad, I..." He sounded tired, defeated.
I simply nodded, squeezed his hand and looked away. What could be said?
The only other people I had seen were my boss, 2 colleagues and the hospital staff.
Three days later John and I were in a Mexican standoff, glaring at each other for several minutes. I wasn't happy about him being here and he wasn't happy about a lot of things.
"Dad, you're going home tomorrow. How the hell are you going to manage on your own? There's no question that I'll be there to help you. You can't drive, you can barely walk, what's your plan?"
He had me there.
"John, I love you. I appreciate you and I appreciate your concern but you just started your new job and shouldn't be taking time off to help me. I'll be fine."
Of course, it didn't sound like that at all. I had made progress on my speech but it was still slow, labored, heavily slurred and often only barely above a mumble. John was one of the few, aside from the hospital staff, who was able to make sense of my slurred mumblings.
"This isn't up for debate, Dad. Since Mom..." He let that thought die on his tongue.
"You can't be on your own. At least not for a little while. Who the hell else is going to help you? My boss has been very understanding so stop worrying. I can stay with you, work a few less hours at the office while I shuttle you around and make the rest up working remotely from the house. It'll be fine."
My prognosis was good; Aside from the aphasia I had partial paralysis in my right arm and leg. A little physical and speech therapy, some blood thinners and a lifestyle change and I should be able to regain most of the use of my leg and arm and reduce the drooping in my face significantly. Doctor Taylor felt that I would have a slight limp and my facial droop would hardly be noticeable. Thankfully, for me the aphasia seemed more directly related to the muscle damage in my face and mouth.
"Okay, John. Thank you." I sniffed-slurred-mumbled
"I love you Dad!"
I was going "home", or what was left of it. Shit, fuck, damn!
"I love you too, John."
There were no warning signs. I didn't know I was about to lose my wife and she hadn't given me any clues.
We had been married for just over 25 years when it happened.
Cathy worked as a Director for a non-profit while I was the Director of North American Sales in a division of a large international software company. I know, what's a guy with poor social skills doing in Sales? Well, the truth is that the worst salespeople are the guys with the gift of gab; they simply are incapable of listening. If you want to sell a complex software solution to a Fortune 500 company you've got to be able to listen. The executives of these large companies don't want to be your friend but they do need to trust and respect you professionally. They might want to have a beer or play a round of golf with the talkers but they'd much rather work on their business issues with the listeners.
I made excellent money and while I was good at my job, I had always been a great salesman, I was never outstanding - never one of the very few guys who made 7 figure commissions. But I always met or exceeded quota regardless of the economy and my consistent performance had earned me my current position and the respect of many colleagues past and present.
I was not a hard-nose prick with my team but I expected you to achieve quota most of the time. I worked with my reps to help that happen and in all of the years I managed salespeople, I had only had to fire a handful for performance issues. I would argue (and have regularly) that they were hiring mistakes, which often happens in an up-economy - when you have to relax your standards a little to fill the open positions. I had always argued against such hiring but was frequently pushed into it by senior management. Reps can only write so much new business while nurturing their existing customers and let's face it, some guys are great hunters while others excel at farming.
Management solved that by splitting territories. I always thought that was shortsighted and lazy; I wanted to separate the two – have hunters' hunt and farmers' farm. For years I was told that was unworkable, unprofitable and unwise but that all changed recently when we switched to a SaaS (software as a service) delivery model. Our licensing had changed to a subscription base and suddenly farming became hugely important.
I could finally set my hunters loose and put my farmers in a fertile pasture.
Initially, some of the hunters hated the idea of giving up the low hanging fruit of a subscription renewal but ultimately realized that they enjoyed their work more and with properly adjusted quotas were still pulling 250k on plan. Eventually, everyone was happier.
I spend a good deal of my time dealing with other people's problems; I enjoyed that. I loved solving problems for my reps, our customers, my company. I could almost always find a win-win and that made my work enjoyable.
There was a lot of stress though; you still have to hit your numbers. In sales you can't rest on your laurels; you're only as good as your last quarter and that means you're always moving.
I traveled a lot. Every week I was on the road somewhere; sometimes just overnight, sometimes as long as a week. It wears you out, is hard on your personal relationships and your physical and mental health. Hobbies helped my with the stress and Cathy supported my career wholeheartedly which also helped reduce the stress I might otherwise have had worrying about the state of my home life. I tried damn hard to be available every weekend for her and John and mostly succeeded.
I held my sales meetings (conference calls) mid-week which was a little unusual but I wanted the start of the week open to allow us to react to whatever happened over the weekend and I wanted to give my reps at least a little time to act on any suggestion or corporate directives we covered during the sales meeting. It worked for us.
As I sat in my office going through my mail one Wednesday afternoon immediately following our weekly sales call, I picked up a plain white envelope postmarked Dallas with no return address. It was about as nondescript as it gets yet opening that envelope changed my life; setting it on a new, dangerous course that I would never fully recover from.
"Oh, Cathy!"
Peter Sellers was a happy little guy despite his line of work. Pretty average in the looks and size department which I suppose was an asset professionally.
Our initial meeting was short and did not inspire much confidence.
He asked a lot of the questions one would expect but he also asked a lot of questions that seemed pretty damned irrelevant to me.
Some of his comments were outright queer and he was annoyingly upbeat about everything. Still, he came highly recommended and if I am going to be honest here - I didn't know shit about this kind of work.
I answered his questions, asked him a few questions in return, gave him the little information he wanted, filled out some forms, paid him and it was over.
"Give me two weeks Mr. Black. Let's plan to meet again in 2 weeks - sooner if we can wrap it all up before then. Try to get some sleep; you look dead tired and ready to drop."
I agreed; mumbled something about being tired and someone dropping dead and left.
At our second meeting just under two weeks later I didn't find Peter Sellers such a happy, queer little guy.
My, what a week it had been. We've been so busy at the office these days that I barely have had time to think. I finished my latest project today and was looking forward to a hot bath, a nice meal and a quiet evening with my husband, Jason.
We'd both been working a little harder than usual lately - our schedules were off and we hadn't had any meaningful interaction for about 2 weeks now I guess.
Usually I don't have to put in the kind of time I have recently and am able to work around Jason's monster schedule but this project had a tight deadline and Jason seemed even busier than ever.
He told me about a delivery something or other which meant a reorganization of something that seemed important...oh, and a new business model of I don't know what requiring a new success meter or some such.
Mostly my eyes glazed over a little when Jason spoke about his work. I don't get technology - it's all so much Charlie Brown's parents to me; "wha wha wha wha wha!" But damn, it made him happy and I loved him happy so I tried to listen, to understand!
I love my husband.
I love supporting him and being supported by him. I love our life together and our plans for the future.
Jason provided a great standard of living that would allow us to set our sights on an early retirement. We hoped we'd be in a position to enjoy life a little more in just a few more short years. With our son, John out on his own, our house paid for we were saving money hand over fist. We often just sat with a glass of wine, well Scotch for Jason, and planned our near term future. It was all so exciting and within grasp that I couldn't help but be supportive of the hours Jason worked to make it happen.
God, I loved my man!
I wished he'd quit smoking and cut down on his drinking. When you combined that with the stress he was always under I worried about his health and our future. He always joked that he'd quit smoking when I learned to confront a problem head-on. I had a habit of avoiding conflict and worked through my anger by being passive aggressive with Jason. Using sarcasm like saying "just joking" after telling him off or expressing my anger covertly by not sharing with him, withholding sex, the silent treatment or taking pleasure in his mistakes if I was right about something. "I told you so!"
Jason hates that. He's a problem solver, tackling things head-on when they come up. He never puts anything off that needs to be dealt with and he doesn't shy away from conflict – instead he welcomes it as a means to resolution. He will say what's on his mind and hopes the same from me. He doesn't get that of course but oh, well woman's prerogative!
I knew Jason would be home this evening. I wasn't sure when since he often worked late but he hadn't mentioned any trips so I was confident we could enjoy and nice evening together. I had stopped on my way home to pick-up some things for dinner and found myself humming as I drove the last couple of miles.
I was surprised to see Jason's car in the driveway as I pulled up. I tried to remember the last time he beat me home and couldn't. Well, more time to relax together and reconnect.
I parked next to Jason, gathered up the groceries and headed to the front door. As I stepped into the foyer, I called out to Jason but was met with silence. Odd, I thought as I put the grocery bags on the island in the kitchen calling out his name again as I did so.
Still no response.
I headed toward our bedroom thinking that perhaps he was in the shower. His suit jacket was on the bed but Jason was not there.
I wandered down the hall to his home office, opened the door and at that moment my whole world ended!
Speech and physical therapy were helping immensely; just three short months since my stroke and I was able to walk and talk again.
Sure I sounded like that Diane lady on NPR but I could make myself understood, if haltingly. John had been a constant source of strength and encouragement and helped me push my physical limits. He was unhappy though and I knew we needed to finally talk about it.
Time for me to be there for my son. To help him work through this.
"John, have you spoken with your Mother lately?"
There was a long pause.
I loved his mind and never rushed his responses as I knew they were all well considered. He wouldn't open his mouth till he knew what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. It had always driven Cathy a little crazy but I thought it was strength of character to be admired and encouraged.
"No, Dad. I haven't. She has emailed me but I haven't responded. I don't know if I can. I mean, I want to know what happened but I'm not sure I can forgive her so..."
"She's your mother, John. She loves you. Maybe if you speak with her you'll be able to find a way to have her in your life in a way you can live with. Maybe not, but avoiding it will only leave you with anger and doubt."
"There's the kettle calling the pot black. Jesus Dad what if I said that to you?"
"John, she married me. She gave birth to you. Those are vastly different animals. Besides, I'm not avoiding her. She knows where I live. For your own sake, try to resolve those issues with her. Let her know how she hurt you so at least you'll feel better. Bottling it up will only hurt YOU more."
"I don't know, Dad."
"Okay, John. Let's you and I talk about it more over lunch. Tell me what's on your mind, ask me questions, pitch a fit. Let's kick this fucking elephant out of the room!"
I let him stew for a while as I left the room to prepare lunch for us. As I mentioned, I loathed cooking so meals these days were always pretty simple but my new diet required a little work. I prepared a nice salad and sliced some apples and pears to go on the side along with some grapes and nuts.
Sometime later John wondered into the kitchen and sat opposite me at the table eying his salad suspiciously. After several moments of careful inspection of his plate he picked up a slice of pear and took a bite.
"I'm proud of you Dad. You're really sticking to this diet."
Another pause and another slow bite of his pear.
And then, just barely above a whisper, "What happened, Dad?"
I sighed. This was going to be hard but it had to happen.
"Well, I was in my home office when I suffered my stroke. Thankfully, your Mother found me unconscious shortly after it happened and called 9-1-1..." I trailed off looking out into the back yard
"I know that Dad but...she was gone before the ambulance arrived, she never went to the hospital. She never came home Dad. For fuck's sake, her husband had just suffered a stroke and she bailed on him. When you needed her the most she abandoned you Dad. What kind of a person does that?"
"John, she did the right thing at that moment. She was the last person I needed then or need now. She has never handled conflict well so her response doesn't surprise me."
"Shit Dad you having a stroke and needing medical attention is hardly a crises she should run from..."
"Conflict, John, not crisis. Your Mom couldn't handle the conflict that was coming. When she found me slumped over my desk, lying unconscious in my own vomit she knew the biggest conflict of our lives had just cut me off at the knees and was heading for her. She couldn't face that fact. She couldn't face what she had done – it nearly killed me and she couldn't face it."
"Couldn't face what Dad? What did she do that could possibly be worse than abandoning you like that."
I stared into his earnest, pleading face, sighed deeply and then...I told him.
I opened the door to Jason's home office and stared uncomprehendingly at the scene that greeted me.
Oh my God. Jason was slumped over his desk, lying in a pool of vomit, unconscious. I rushed over to him and noticed that thankfully he was still breathing though it seemed a little labored.
I was crying uncontrollably now, screaming at him to wake up.
"JASON!" I shook him but he refused to wake up. I moved his head so he wasn't lying in his own mess all the while sobbing and screaming and beginning to hyperventilate.
"JASON!" I kept shaking him.
I fucking knew the stress, his smoking and drinking would be his undoing.
I was so mad at him!
"GOD DAMN YOU, JASON! WAKE UP!" I punched the back of his shoulder as I screamed and cried.
I hugged him then. "Jason, please..." then I looked up at his laptop and froze.
No, it couldn't be.
Jason. My Jason. My rock, the man I love, had collapsed watching a video of me rutting like an animal in a cheap motel room with my co-worker, Chris Peters.
I did this to him.
My head was spinning as a loud buzzing battered my ears; I stood there, frozen, watching and listening to my betrayal. My selfish, stupid betrayal.
A betrayal that looked like it nearly killed my husband.
I am not certain how long I stood there. I do know that I am more ashamed at what I did next than anything else.
Instead of dialing 9-1-1 to get help for my husband, who could quite possibly be dying, I ejected the DVD from his laptop and searched his office for any further evidence. I found the Investigators report from a Mr. Sellers and took both the report and DVD out of the room as I hurried down the hall.
I ran into our bedroom and hurriedly packed a suitcase, tossing in the DVD and PI's report. After taking the suitcase downstairs and putting it in the trunk of my car, I went into the kitchen and retrieved the bags of groceries and put those in my car. I can't explain why.
I returned to the house and poured myself a drink to calm my nerves. Only when I finished the drink did I finally call 9-1-1 to seek help for my husband.
Who does that?!
I gave them my name and address, answered a few questions about his condition, then disconnected the call, rushed out to my car leaving the front door wide open and drove away.
I couldn't face this.
When I first arrived home from the hospital after my stroke it was clear that Cathy had been in and taken her things. It looked like she has spent a considerable amount of time going through everything; taking pictures, DVD's, Cd's, art, kitchen utensils, her cookbooks etc. Even some of the furniture was gone.
It was clear she had moved out.
John was apoplectic. I was indifferent.
John wanted to wring her neck. I wanted to lie down.
Over the next several months, as I went through the agony and humiliation of physical and speech therapy, I reflected on what had brought me, us here.
I hadn't heard from Cathy. John and I never talked about her and I didn't know if he was in touch with her or not. I hoped so for his sake but beyond that I didn't really care.
I found that unlike what people say, you absolutely can simply stop loving someone. Well, to be more accurate, I knew without reservation and immediately, that I was not in love with the woman I was currently married to. I still loved the woman I married 25 years ago but she went away and what took her place was someone I didn't know.
I didn't hate her; how could I? I didn't even know her. No, I was simply and utterly indifferent toward her. She was simply John's mother.
I was glad she didn't hang around afterward, that her inability to face conflict, or the consequences of her actions made her flee. It would have been tough otherwise. I mean who wants to have to deal with a complete stranger while they are recuperating from a major medical issue? Certainly not me. No, this was for the best.
I hadn't decided when I was going to deal with my marriage yet. When Mr. Sellers first contacted me to tell me that she was indeed cheating on me I had taken appropriate steps, certain in my course of action and the necessity of acting immediately. I had already contacted an attorney who coached me on the appropriate actions required and or allowed prior to filing and I had begun that process.
I requested Mr. Sellers send copies of his report, DVD's etc. to my attorney, began separating out our finances as much as I quickly could and had started to have Cathy removed as my beneficiary on everything I could think of.
In the meantime my attorney was preparing the necessary paperwork to begin divorce proceedings.
Of course, it all fell to shit before the papers were filed and Cathy was served. I met with Sellers, picked up my copy of his report and the attendant photos and DVD's and went home to review it all. Knowing your wife is cheating and seeing your wife cheat has significantly different repercussions to your well-being.
We all know children die in war zones and that deeply affects us. But seeing children die in a war zone will have a vastly different impact – few people survive that intact.
Seeing Cathy's betrayal nearly killed me and left me...diminished.
Yes, I would divorce Cathy. Of that I was certain.
Reconciliation seemed absolutely ridiculous.
I mean no one would ever consciously decide to marry someone they KNOW will cheat on them? So why stay married to the same? The only thing I KNEW about this Cathy was that she was a cheat and a coward. Oh, and John's mother. Beyond that she was a complete stranger. Nope, I was not going to DECIDE to grow old with a cheating coward.
Divorce was my only option but at the moment I had bigger fish to fry. I had to get well and I had to decide what I was going to do for me moving forward.
I still had some physical progress to make and I had to determine if I was going to return to my stress-filled corporate life or choose another direction.
I had hoped to work another 4 or 5 years and then retire; perhaps I could afford to retire now albeit in a little less comfort than I had hoped. Perhaps I could start a new career or redefine my position at my company to reduce my stress and travel.
I still didn't know. I was eating better and had quit smoking and drinking, though the doctor told me a glass or two every now and again would be fine if and when I was able to come off my current medications. I didn't miss drinking or smoking. A near death experience will do that for you. My physical therapy was good exercise and I was also walking quite a bit now too.
No, the only thing I knew for certain was that I would not allow Cathy's infidelity to define or destroy me. Instead I determined that I would use it and its aftermath as the motivation I needed to get healthy and be happy.
It has been three years since that day; the day I found my husband Jason near death because of my selfish stupidity.
I have not spoken to either Jason or John since then. John refuses to speak with me and I am too ashamed to try to contact Jason.
He eventually filed for divorce and had me served at work. I didn't fight the divorce and we mostly split things evenly, if a little in Jason's favor. What did I care really?
Jason eventually threatened the organization I worked for with very bad publicity if they didn't take certain actions. There was a prolonged negotiation and eventually Chris Peters was fired and the Executive Director, my boss, was reprimanded. My career with them stalled.
During that process it was discovered that is was Chris that alerted Jason to our affair.
Chris and his wife had an open marriage that had caused them to drift apart over the years.
He and I used to joke that we were work spouses; he was my work husband and I was his work wife. I never considered this little game dangerous and failed to maintain the appropriate boundaries. Shortly after our physical affair began, my boss caught us together in my office and we were officially reprimanded.
In a subsequent email to me she indicated that inter-office romances, particularly between married staff was strictly against our code of ethics and as my boss she was required to reprimand us and counsel us to stop our affair; as my friend, while she didn't understand why I would want to cheat on Jason with Chris she understood the allure of an affair and if I wanted to continue please keep it out of the office.
And so we did. It should have been enough to jolt me back to my senses but it wasn't.
I didn't love Chris but I did like him - the thing I really liked was the sex. He wasn't better than Jason just smaller.
Yes, smaller.
Ever since John was born sex with Jason involves a certain amount of pain. He isn't porn star big, maybe the high end of average. If I had to guess, I'd say maybe 7 inches long and 5 inches around. Chris on the other hand was really quite small and thin which meant for the first time in years, I could experience sex without any pain.
And that was the end for me.
Chris began to fall in love with me and often talked about leaving our spouses to be together. I shut that down immediately; I would never leave Jason. I loved him. I told Chris that while I was very fond of him, I didn't love him. I really tried not to mention that what I really liked was his small penis but he pressed me to the point I finally confessed.
He was not happy, not happy at all and so he hoped exposing me to Jason would result in my divorce and hurt me a little for insulting his manhood. He mailed copies of our reprimand and the email my boss sent me to Jason. That led Jason to hiring a private investigator and well, here we are.
Of course after I found Jason near death and fled I couldn't bring myself to continue my affair with Chris and when I found out that he had exposed our affair to Jason, I slapped him hard and have not spoken to him since.
I have tried to reconnect with my son, John but he refuses to have anything to do with me. He was married about 4 months ago and I was devastated to discover that only after the fact. Not only did he not invite me, he didn't even tell me!
I know my abandoning Jason really hurt John. I think if it was just the infidelity he and I would still have a relationship. It would have been strained and certainly not as close as it once had been but we would nonetheless be on speaking terms. Abandoning Jason meant there was no forgiveness for me from John. I knew he would never be able to get past that and that is my greatest regret.
Sure, I wish I hadn't cheated and I really dodged a bullet when Jason lived. I still can't believe I waited all that time to call 9-11! I still have sleepless nights when I think about that!
No, my inability to face what I had done and what that had done to Jason was the death of my relationship with my son.
Jason, probably expected no less. He knew me well. As well as I knew him. I knew that my infidelity would end our marriage. I knew Jason would not, could not tolerate it. Oh, he's not an ass; if it had been a drunken one night stand, he would probably have gotten over it. It would have seriously damaged his faith and trust in me but it would not have killed our marriage. But a 14 month long affair? No, there was no coming back from that. Jason knew it, I knew it. We were done.
And not only had I killed our marriage, those same actions also almost killed the man I loved. If that wasn't enough, my delay in calling 9-1-1 could have finished the job my infidelity hadn't quite accomplished.
There was simply no way for me to face Jason after that and I never tried.
I keep tabs on him. Well, as well as I can. He seems to have mostly recovered from his stroke (thank you God!) and quit his job.
Apparently after he sold our house he bought an RV and spends his time traveling between State and National parks working as a sort of park ambassador in exchange for a little cash and housing (a spot and hook-up for his RV). I guess he's finally quit smoking and drinking, his stressful job is gone and he's traveling the country experiencing all of the great outdoors this country has to offer.
God, I wish I were with him.
I am happy for Jason. I miss him and my son John terribly. I still hold out hope that John and I will one day reconnect but I pray Jason never has to see me again.
I owe him at least that.
