Gillian And Herbert Miller-chapter Two Of Two free porn video

I leaned against the hallway wall and listened to them, and I "didn't" suck it up; I sobbed instead, just like a little boy. I was quiet about it, but I did sob. I could hear him donning his clothes. I headed for the dinette. A shot of brandy would be useful right then, now, this last few minutes of my marriage to Gillian Miller nee Crowley.

I was actually on my second shot when I heard them coming downstairs. They were talking kinda low, but I did manage to hear them saying some stuff about me.

"Well, make our little cuckold as happy as you can. Neither of us needs the kind of grief that he can unload on us if he decides he isn't loved," said Michael Waring.

"I will," I heard her say, "and make no mistake, Michael, Herbert is loved. I mean I won't be just trying to make him believe he is. He is. Get that. I love you too, but in a different way. Okay?"

"I understand. I misspoke," he said. "I know you love the guy. And, I think that's great. I misspoke."

They came into my view when they reached the bottom of the stairs. They embraced and looked into each other's eyes. He smiled; she smiled; and then he saw me.

"Oh shit," he said. She gave him a quizzical look; then, following his gaze, she saw me.

"Oh my! Herb—how—how long have you been here?" she said. I looked up and took another sip of my drink. I didn't respond. I stood, lifted my drink, and was about to take another sip but changed my mind. I looked over at them, looked down, up again, and hurled my shot glass, still half full, as hard as I could at the wall. It shattered into a million pieces.

"Herb! Please! Please stop! It isn't what you think. I love you!" I just snickered.

"I'd been willing to try, Gil. But no more. I wanted to try, but no more. In our marital bed, Gillian! In our marital bed! The two of you have no shame? No shame and no limits. I refuse to be your little cuckold, I think is how this man of yours referred to me, Gillian. I'm a man, your husband, a human being, not your little cuckold. I refuse, Gil, I refuse. I will file tomorrow," I said. I walked past them and headed upstairs to pack.

"Herbert! Please, stop," she said. She turned to her lover.

"Michael, you better go," she said. "Herbert and I have things to talk about."

"Yes, I understand. I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

"Just go, Michael. I'm going to be very busy. Please, just go," she said.

She came upstairs and watched me for a moment as I packed some necessaries. "You're leaving me?" she said. "After all of these years after all we've meant to each other? You're leaving me."

"You left me, Gillian, not the other way 'round. I warned you that this e-chat thing was going to hurt us, but you decided to go behind my back anyway and meet with the man knowing how I felt about it. Then, after I discovered you, even then, I tried to deal with it; and you have no idea how hard that was for me, I mean to be your de facto willing cuckold. And now you made the unilateral decision to bring him into our house and fuck him in our marital bed! You broke my heart, Gil; you broke my heart. I will be a long while getting over what you've done to me if I ever can. Thanks a helluva lot," I said. I wasn't crying yet; I guess I was too angry. The tears would come later.

"I'm sorry, Herb. I didn't think. I'm very very sorry. But, it doesn't have to end us. If you heard it all, you heard me tell him how I felt about you. I love you."

"And I heard you say you love him. Why? Because you can talk to him and not me. Does he have a bigger dick? Why, Gil? Why do you love him? Tell me." I said.

"I don't know. I guess it has to do with being able to talk to him, yes. I don't know?"

"The sex? What has that got to do with talking to him? Tell me that?" She looked away.

"I don't know. It just happened," she said.

"No, Gil, he found you on the net and set you up, set me up. He was after your pussy the whole time. Probably other women too. You were just too damn dumb to realize it. He is not a good man, Gil. He's going to hurt you. The bad news for you is that I won't be there to catch you when you fall. And you will be hurt, you will fall, Gil; I guarantee it."

"You are taking it all wrong, my husband, and yes I do mean my husband; you will always be that to me; and you will always be there for me if anything bad happens; it's who you are. But it won't, Herb. He’s a good man. He has nothing against you. He doesn't know you," she said.

"Yes he does, Gil. He knows all about me because you've told him. I heard him in there talking smack about me," I said.

"He didn't say anything bad about you, Herb. What are you talking about," she said.

"He didn't refer to me as his little cuckold?" I said, "and yours. You don't think that that was an awful thing to call me, even as he was fucking you?" I said.

"He didn't mean that in a mean way," she said. "He appreciates that you are my husband. Really."

"He didn't mean it that way? Then, what way did he mean it?" I said.

"Herb, get a grip. You are blowing this way out of proportion," she said.

"No, no really, how did he mean it. Please tell me. I'm listening, maybe for the last time. Please, how did he mean it when he called me his little cuckold," I said, "because, if you care to know, it was those words that killed my heart and put an end to us," I said.

"He just meant it was, well, a definition. We, he, was doing me and I guess technically . . ."

"Yes, technically that made me his cuckold, oh, and yours. Now, how about the 'little' part? Is that part of the definition too?"

"Well, no . . ." she started.

"No indeed. What it meant, Gil, was that he holds me in contempt because he is screwing my wife, and I haven't had the balls to try and stop him. Contempt, Gil, for me; he holds me in contempt, and you letting him get away with it shows me that you do too. Hell, why should either of you feel bad about that; 'I' hold me in contempt!"

"I do not!" she all but screamed at me. "I love you. I mean it. He could never come between us in any real sense."

"Hmm, so you love me?"

"Yes. Of course."

More than him?”

“Yes,” she said.

"Wanna save the marriage, Gil?"

"Of course. I do not, I repeat, I do not want a divorce!" she said.

"You love me a lot, and again, more than him?' I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Okay then, get on the phone with him and tell him he's history. Do it now, save me having to pack anymore clothes and stuff. Do it now, and somehow, I don't know how, but somehow we will get by all of this," I said.

"I—I can't." I nodded and resumed my packing. Done, I headed downstairs with the two suitcases. She followed me, and I think she wanted to reach out to me, but she didn't. No more was said. She watched me from the doorway as I backed out of the driveway and drove off."

****

"Usual?" said Red.

"Yeah, yeah, Jack on the rocks. Make it a double," I said. I'd made my way to the Red Barn. I needed a drink, several drinks.

As I sipped, my resident psychoanalytic clinician, Red, watched me. I've heard that good psychologists are good listeners and even better observers. I had the feeling that I was being observed quite closely by my good friend the bartender. He eventually wandered over toward me.

"More wife troubles?" he said.

"Yeah. We're done," I said. He nodded as he dried a pilsner glass.

"It happens, I guess," he said. "But, we have to get on with life. Can't sit around all mopey all the time. Trust me, I know the game."

"I reckon," I said. "But, it's hard. I do so love her. She's been my all for so long that I cannot even imagine life without her. But, it's even more difficult to imagine my having to share her with another man. I tried, but in the end I just couldn't do it. When I saw . . ."

"You saw them together!" said a shocked Red. I just shrugged.

"Oh man, that was not good," he said.

"No. No. Not good," I said. "Singularly bad actually."

****

Between getting off work at 5:00 and getting to sleep around 11:00 or midnight: I spent most weekday nights, after my break up with Gillian, now a full year in the past, either sitting on a bar stool at the Red Barn and occasionally the Calaboose; or walking long range, three miles, on the city park pathway. Life for me had taken on an element of sadness and exercise and alcohol, talk about contradictions, were the means I was employing to cope.

I didn't sob myself to sleep anymore, and I didn't complain to Red, or anyone else for that matter, about the tragedy of my marital situation. But I didn't socialize either. I didn't chase skirts. Women just didn't attract me much anymore; I guess I'd been too badly burned. Well, that is I hadn't been attracted until Red had an appendicitis attack and was out for two weeks.

His stand in for those days was a woman named Martina Flores, a citizen of Belize. Five-ten, long dark hair, B-cups, and a sensational butt. But, what was even more attractive about Martina, at least to me, was her buoyant personality. The struggles of her personal life, which I would soon learn from conversations with her, had not seemed to hold her back. She was the absolute opposite of me; I was still inwardly crying in my beer.

"So, Martina," I said, reading her name tag. "You're in for Red?"

"Yes sir, Red's out sick," she said.

"Nothing to serious, I hope," I said.

"Not now, but it almost was. He had an appendectomy yesterday," she said.

"Really! Well, I'm glad he's okay now."

"Would you like something, sir?" she said.

"Yeah, yeah, Jack on the rocks. Oh, and not too many rocks," I said.

"Comin' up," she said. I watched her sashay down the length of the bar. She returned with the drink and set it in front of me smiling.

"Anything else?" she said. I stared at her too young face and decided to go for it. Why the hell not, I thought.

"Only if you can do heart transplants," I said. "The one I got is broken." She laughed.

"You?" she said. "I would have thought that you would be the one to break hearts." Now, I laughed.

"Well, thank you for that," I said. "The lift to my ego is well appreciated." She tendered me a quizzical smile, nodded, and headed off down the bar to do her duty.

Over the next two weeks I got to know Marty. Not well enough to call us friends, but we did seem to get along well enough; and, I thought she was making an effort to serve me a trifle better than most customers, though really that could have been wishful thinking on my part.

I'd learned she was thirty-five years old, had a string of failed relationships, never married, was rot gut poor, had two kids, had aborted a third, did part time bar work at three different places to make ends meet, and was desperately looking to hook up with some guy with money who was willing to overlook her baggage. Clearly my kind of woman, so I asked her out, so she said yes.

"Well, mister, tonight is my last shift here. Red's gonna be back in action and you guys can get back to tellin' each other lies," she said, laughing.

"Really," I said. "Say, Marty, we've kinda gotten to know each other pretty good over these past days. How would you like to go out to dinner with me one of these nights?" She looked at me, and I think her mouth was hanging open.

"You mean a date? With you?" she said. I thought she was going to laugh. I was a dozen years older than she was, three inches shorter than she was, and I had a good job. Well, one out of three was a winner. Right?"

"Yeah, never mind. I just thought . . ." I started.

"No, no. I'd love to. I just didn't think, never thought. I mean you're married . . ."

"Estranged. Look, I'm a lot older than you; I know that. And, you are way out of my league in a dozen ways; but, I'm a good guy, and I can afford to feed us. I just figured nothing ventured nothing gained, you know," I said.

"Like I said, yes; I will go out with you," she said. "And forget the older stuff. I've gone out with guys a lot older than you and had a ball. And, frankly, I could use a really good meal. You are planning on feeding me good, right?"

"Oh yeah," I said. "Oh yeah."

The evening was great, and, I got one helluva kiss when I took her home. Yeah, I know, just a kiss; but it was some kiss. Heck it was a beginning.

Over the next weeks Martina and I got to know each other even better. I found out all about her family back in Belize, and she got the short version of my history with my wife and our situation. She seemed to take much more interest in me when she discovered that I had no close family of my own. Go figure.

It was strange, I thought, here I knew all about her children and family in Belize, and it occurred to me that I knew more about them than I did about Gillian's, all of whom lived on the opposite coast, and none of whom I had ever met. Gillian as related did not get along with any of her living relatives for a number of reasons, and I had long ago learned to not push finding out about them. At any rate, Martina did get along with hers; they were all but her whole life.

Martina had not been back to Belize in six years. As she lay beside me naked and with my cum leaking out of her, I decided to fix that little reality, the seeing of her family that is. I had the money, and she had the need.

"You wanna see your family?" I said.

"Yes, sure, but I don't have the money for a trip like that right now," she said. "But, I have plans to go next year. I'll have enough saved by then, and I'll be able to go."

"Can you take off from the job now if you wanted to?" I said. She looked at me kinda funny.

"Yes. I can. I’d just have to arrange it with the places I work, so that they don't get mad at me," she said.

"I'll send you. I can't go because of my job, but I can send you," I said. "I mean if that would be all right with you."

"What? You mean send me to Belize?" she said. "You'd do that for me?"

"Yes." She kissed me almost brutally.

The sex during the ensuing hour was taxing and wonderful. She did things with her mouth that should have been copyrighted. At any rate, a week later, she boarded the plane.

****

"Yes, he's actually found a chickee to play with," said Gillian. "Michael, I almost feel that I should try and save him from the heartache that he is certain to get out of his little affair." He smiled at her.

"Hey lover, I think that he's gotten a pretty large dose of that from you and me already. Yes, he's too old for her, if what you've said is true, but maybe he needs to get what he can out of his, affair, I mean to help him reestablish his ego. From what you've told me and from what I know firsthand, I'm pretty sure he could use a little bit of, well, something," he said. She snickered.

"Maybe, but robbing the cradle isn't the best of paths to that end," she said.

"Gil, he's not exactly robbing the cradle. The woman is in her lat thirties. He's forty-eight and in pretty good shape health-wise," he said.

"Well, I don't know. I just don't want to see him hurt again. I mean what we, or at least I've done to him; he doesn't need another hit to his ego, as you phrase it," she said.

"No, but it's kind of out of our hands in any event. He's an adult, Gillian. He can choose to play with whomever he wants. It's a risk for him, and he may be grasping at straws picking up a girl like her, but it’s his choice, not yours, not mine," he said. "At any rate, we need to walk softly for now; I think that my Doris may be getting a bit suspicious. I don't want to do anything to push Herbert to doing something that might hurt the both of us. I do not need a divorce."

"Jesus, Michael, when all we were doing was chatting, we had no problems, but now . . ."

"Yeah, but I'm not hypocritical enough to wish we had not taken the extra step," he said. "That said, are you busy right at the moment?" he was leering.

She smirked. "As a matter of fact I'm free for the next little while. What did you have in mind?"

He came to her and slid his hands down her arms. She shivered as he leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. He began unbuttoning her blouse. It fluttered to the floor. Her bra followed seconds later. He grasped her globes and gently massaged them as he gazed into her eyes.

"Feels good," she said. They kissed long and sensually. He pulled her down on top of him. She spread her legs wide actually straddling his body. His knee came up and pressed hard against her vulva.

"You gonna take me or wrestle me?" she said smiling at down at him. He rolled her over and pushed her panties south. She used her foot to push them further down and off.

"I'm going to take you," he said, "but we can wrestle later if you want. Heck, I might even let you win."

He knelt up momentarily pushing his pants down and freeing his cock. Lowering himself once again, he pushed into her and began seesawing in and out.

Minutes later they lay beside each other sweaty and breathing hard.

She was pensive, obviously so.

"Thinking of him?" he said.

"Yes."

"Gil, are you comfortable with our situation? I mean, you know, we've talked. He could decide to come back to you someday. I mean it's a possibility. You know it and I know it. This thing with, that other woman that he's got going is gonna end. I've seen her. She's not even in your league, younger, but way beneath you by any measure I know of," said Michael.

"You've seen her?" she said.

"Yes, I checked her out. Didn't talk to her. Just had a drink in the bar where she works. He wasn't around. She flirted with every other guy in the place, but didn't favor any particular one. Just kinda did her job and that was it," he said.

She stared at him. "So what's the hold she has over him?" said Gillian.

"She's pretty enough, probably pays attention to him, provides an anchor for him. He'll tire of her soon enough. For sure she's not going to be faithful to him," he said.

"What's in it for her, do you think?" she said.

"Money. She's a gold digger. She'll tap him for some bucks, and then screw him over. He's gonna be feelin' real low after that. That'll be your signal to step in and comfort him," said Michael.

"Really? You think so?" she said. She didn't really hear his response. She just smiled. It would be a waiting game. Not fun, but her confidence returned. Then, she frowned. Why did she care, really? Was it his money she herself was after? It sure as heck wasn't his dick.

They still hadn't divorced, and he still made the payments on the house and paid the utilities automatically every month; just as he always had. Still, he’d made no attempt to contact her for the entire year they'd so far been apart, go figure. Nor had she him after the initial days, but in the future . . .

Her Herbert wasn't rich, just had a really good job. She asked herself the question yet again, was she herself a gold digger like this bartender woman? No, she'd been with her Herbert since the beginning, when there were no big bucks, no travel perks, none of it. No, Gillian Miller just wanted her man back; back, but accepting of her needs, of Michael.

Michael was wonderful in the sack, but nowhere near in Herbert's class when it came to being husband material. If they'd only had children, she and her Herbert she thought. Well, maybe she could still figure something out along those lines. The two of them were middle aged now, but by no means over the hill, And, even with Herb's low sperm count; well, there were other means in this modern era. Maybe when the time came, when the gold digger woman dumped him, as Michael seemed sure that she would. Yes! Maybe then.

****

I was kicking back at the bar as she danced with the third fella that had asked her in a row; well, she was beautiful. It was one of the several nights out each month, on average that we shared.

Things weren't so bad for me anymore. Yeah, I'd lost the love of my life, but I was mostly over it. There were still moments, in the darkest of night, when everything was melancholy; but, I was dealing with it. Helping me deal with it was Martina; she was good for me.

I was a realist. Someone who looked like her, and so much younger than me, could not have been crazy about my exquisitely youthful and sexy body. I knew she saw me mostly as a support against her financial difficulties. And, in all fairness, I saw in her an exquisitely youthful and sexy woman with a killer body and a giving nature. I figured it was a fair trade.

Martina and I got along well. She was intelligent and could converse on a wide variety of topics. I did end up going shopping with her sometimes; she needed clothes and a lot of them: a couple of grand worth so far. But, it made her happy and I had the money; it was win win.

We got it on in bed most times that we did go out. Tonight would be one of those nights. She'd turned out to be sensitive and loving which kind of surprised me. I'd early on thought that she was going to be one of those tigresses that would blow out the walls with her screams of passion and her desire to be expansive and imaginative in bed. She was the exact opposite: tender, teasing, and gentle; it suited me.

I watched her sway teasingly as she headed back to our table; her dance partner in tow. "Herb, this is Terry, a very good dancer and a lawyer," she said. I stood and shook hands with the man.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

"Same here," he said. "Tina tells me that you're a financial analyst."

"That's right," I said. The man took a seat, that without having been invited to do so. Marty gave me a was-it-okay look, and I nodded in the affirmative.

We spent maybe half an hour talking about nothing and everything. I was actually getting a little bored, so I interrupted the confab to ask my girlfriend to dance. She seemed delighted and so we did.

"He's a nice guy," she said, as we toured the dance floor.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. We stayed out for two dances and when we returned, he was gone. Marty looked unhappy.

"Maybe we shouldn't have left him alone," she said.

"He wasn't with us babe. He just danced with you one time and socialized with us a bit. Did you expect him to do more, be more?" I said.

"No. I don't know. I just kinda liked him. He was interesting, I guess." For the first time since meeting Martina and dating her, I began to feel uncomfortable in our relationship whatever that meant.

I took her home, and we necked a while in the car, but she pleaded an early rising for the next day, and that dashed any hope I had of getting any that night. I was disappointed, and a little, well, uncomfortable, as I said. I headed home. I needed to assess things.

Martina hadn't done anything untoward, and there had been other times when we didn't do it after a date. And, we didn't have anything official; hell, we weren't officially even going steady. But, somehow this time it was different. I didn't feel threatened by counselor Terry, but I did kinda get the feeling that he wanted to replace me in Marty's life. Well, we'd be seeing about that.

****

I didn't see Martina again for three weeks. Each time I called, I was hit with an excuse. At first I was a little disappointed, then concerned, then miffed. I stopped calling her. That was in the middle of the second week. At the end of the third week she called me. She said she wanted to talk to me. I knew what she was going to say, and I really didn't need to hear it, so I turned her down;

I figured it was the end of our relationship such as it was. Replaced twice in little more than a year: not real good for the old ego. Whatever it was that I was lacking, I needed to figure it out or just stay single and aloof. What the hell, other guys did the singles thing and did okay.

At any rate, I was almost right. She was waiting for me when I got off work the day after our last contact. "Hi Herb. Please, can I have a word with you, please?" she said. I smiled.

"No need, Martina. I know what you're going to say, and it's okay. I'm just not interested in the melodrama," I said.

"But . . ."

"Martina, I know you're replacing me. Wanting to do it gently I'm sure. Anyway, just consider it done, and we'll just both get on with our lives. See yuh later." I just turned and walked off leaving her with her mouth hanging open.

Was I being childish? Maybe some would say so, but I’d disagree. I supposed Martina wanted to separate herself from me gently in order for her to feel better about herself. But, the fact is I didn't need the melodrama or the sad looks. I didn't want to hear the inevitable, "We can still be friends," speech. I'd had enough of such nonsense or its equivalent; and more of it I did not need. She and I'd had something going for a while, but it was ending; I knew it, so I just wanted to let it go. For once I was going to do it my way, sort of.

I would be seeing Martina, off and on over the next couple of years, but not really socially.

****

Talk about being in a blue funk. I was the poster boy for that description. No, I didn't hate Martina nor really Gillian either. I hated my looks, my dick, my ignorance of how to hold on to my women. Taking stock, I realized, that though I'd been able to get plenty of dates between my breakup with Gillian and my relatively lengthy affair with Martina, I wasn't able to get any of them to care enough for anything that resembled a long term relationship; well, until Martina, and that really wasn't all that long.

A couple of months after Marty and I were done, I came into the Red Barn; she was on duty. She was filling in for one of the other bartenders, not Red. Red was on duty too, and gave me a heads up when I took my usual seat at the end of the bar. I turned to see Marty heading back for the bar from the table area beyond the mini-dance floor; she hadn't seen me yet. I could have escaped, but the heck with it. I would just let her know that I didn't want to talk about the past: the break up with her had not been as traumatic as had the one with Gillian. And, I was a customer; she'd have to honor my request; or, so I figured.

"Herb!" she said, finally seeing me. "I didn't see . . ."

"Yeah, it's okay. I'm just a customer. No reminiscing, okay?' I said. I gave her an I-mean-it look.

"Sure, okay," she said. "It's good to see you."

"Thanks. A martini if you've got one lying around," I said.

"Coming right up," she said. Red was eyeing the exchange. He gave me an approving thumbs up.

Relaxing over the next hour or so I exchanged lies with some of the regulars. Martina tendered me an occasional smile, refilled my martini when I raised my hand, and brought me a small bowl of pretzels at some point. Around 9:00PM I downed the last of my second drink, waved to Red, nodded in Martina's direction, and left.

Over the next few months, that pretty much set the tone for my existence that is my drinking and socializing existence. Occasionally, I would hook up with a woman, and we'd leave together. Martina as it turned out filled in at the Red Barn maybe a few days every month now for this or that sick-out, vacation, weekend off for the regular help or the like. I don't know what she did the rest of the month or how her romance with the lawyer was going, or if it was going, but she and I got along okay.

About three months after first seeing Martina again at the Red Barn, she was again on duty. I'd just ordered my second when a striking woman took the stool next to mine. Five-five, maybe one-ten, blond, D-cups, the bluest eyes I'd seen in forever, and a porcelain complexion that should have been gracing magazine covers. Her clothes? A beige midi with matching blouse and stilettos gave her an air of someone who was used to being in charge.

I looked down the length of the bar. Of the twenty stools situated around its semi-circular span, only three were occupied at that moment, That the woman had opted for the one next to mine was some small surprise. Still, not being a complete doofus, I had to figure she was wanting to talk to me. The first thing that entered my head was that she was a prostie looking to see if she could help a poor soul out of his obvious malaise. But no, this woman wasn't a prostie, or, if she was, she was way out of my price range. The mystery was soon solved.

"Hello, Herb," she said. "You don't mind be calling you Herb do you?" I stared at her.

"No, I suppose not. But, do I know you?" I said. I was certain that I didn't.

"No, not exactly. You know my husband, I believe," she said.

"You're married. You have a husband who lets you out in public, alone. He must be crazy," I said. She smiled.

"Thanks, I think," she said. "But frankly, I'm a big girl, and I do what I want when I want. But, again, thanks for the compliment."

"You're certainly welcome," I said. "What can I do for you? You need a new husband, boyfriend, slave all of the above?" She laughed, and so did I.

"No, no, not at the moment," she said, letting me down easy.

"Okay, I'll never get over my disappointment, but what is, is, I guess."

"Let me introduce myself. I'm Doris Waring," she said. She smiled at the expression that must have immediately shrouded my countenance.

"Oh," I said.

"Yes, well, I've just discovered that my hubby, Michael, has been fucking your wife. Or put another way, cheating on me, well, us actually," she said. I nodded, my mood darkened perceptibly.

"I know. He broke us up, me and my wife," I said.

"I'm going to be divorcing him. I came to ask if you would be amenable to testifying to what he did to you and your marriage. I'm going after the asshole, Herb, big time. How about it? Want to join me in driving the proverbial sword through the masher's heart, and wallet," she said.

I looked her in the eye. I was quiet for a moment. "Yes," I said, finally. I well knew if I did what she was asking me that any chance for Gillian and I ever getting back together was going to be dead. But it was some two years plus now, and I had to let go of those oh so secret dreams, hopes. It was time to finally do battle with the asshole and my traitorous wife, get a little payback.

"Okay, then," she said. She put out her hand for me to shake, and I did.

"Herb, your soon to be ex is going to get burned in this little show too; you do realize that? This is going to be a scorched earth campaign. I am more than a little pissed about what he's done to me, and to you of course." I nodded.

"Yes, I understand," I said. Looking at the woman seated next to me, I knew that she was intending to castrate mister Waring and in the doing to consign Gillian to a cloistered nunnery for the duration. Doris Waring was beautiful, but she had more in common with Penthesilea than with Helen of Troy; and I knew for damn sure that Michael Waring was no Achilles. No indeed, mister Waring was in for a very long day and that very soon.

****

The parking lot in front of Mobile-Phone Inc. is tree shaded on the western side making it the parking area of choice for the workers, protecting their cars as it did from the afternoon sun. Michael Waring had pulled in alongside Gillian Miller's Buick and was just getting out of his car to greet his girlfriend when a man in a cheap suit approached them and smiled. "You're both served," he said.

"Huh? What?" said Gillian.

"It's all in the envelopes," said the courier.

The two servees wasted no time finding out what was what. "She's divorcing me," said Michael. "Your bastard husband must have tipped her."

"She suing me too," said Gillian, opening her own envelope. "But, I don't believe that Herb did this to us. He's hurt, and probably still angry. But, if he's waited this long to do anything, well, why now? It makes no sense. No, this is your wife on her own, I'm sure of it."

"Well, whatever. But this is bad. Doris is the money in our relationship. I work as a consultant on projects she assigns me. If she's divorcing me, it means I'm also fired. Put another way I'm unemployed and broke, just like that." He'd paled in the preceding minutes to a significant degree.

"But, one good thing," he said.

"Pray tell," said Gillian.

"If she's divorcing me; then, that leaves it clear for you to finally get free of Herbert. Finally, we, you and I, can be together," he said. She gave him a look.

"I . . ." she started.

"Gil, it's been two years. Sure he still pays the rent, but you make enough, and I will get another job in short order, and we can get on with being happy. Whaddya say?" he said.

"Michael—I—I'll have to think about it. I love you, but I think we need to wait to see how things are after the dust clears. Okay?" He nodded.

"Okay, but I've been in love with you since the beginning. I see this as an opportunity for the two of us to actually be happy, Gil. I really do." She smiled and it warmed him a little. But, what he couldn't see was the bits of doubt that had long and still hounded her. How had he known where she worked? Why had he chased down Martina and watched her at work? And, there were other things, things that Herbert had warned her were going to happen, and some of them had. Still, she did love him, not the same as she had and still did love her Herb, but she did love him. Maybe she owed it to him to marry him now. Maybe too, she owed it to her Herb to set him free. She had to think. Yes, she would be thinking long and hard about her decision, and she was well aware that time was not her ally.

****

I had been notified that the hearing would be on Tuesday, the ninth. I'd never been to one before, but I was sure that this one was likely pretty routine, pretty usual, if that was the way to phrase it.

I noted that it was starting out as a tense affair.

The two sides in the dispute occupied separate sides of the courtroom. On the one side was Doris, behind whom her friends and relatives had gathered in numbers and were in the process of staring down her cheating spouse and the seven friends he'd managed to convince to back him in his defense.

For my part, I was somewhat uncomfortable. Gillian had brought this on herself, and now I was going to be a party to making her pay. Rationally, I knew she deserved it, but I was still uncomfortable. I guess husbands always feel the need to protect their women even when the women piss on them. Helluva thing.

Seated immediately behind Michael in the gallery was Gillian, one of the seven friends. She was nervous and clearly upset that her husband, me, occupied a pew immediately behind her boyfriend's soon-to-be ex. She was actually angry that I would be there. If I testified, I would be testifying that she had committed adultery with the respondent. Though in her mind, she hadn't. She just hadn't been able to convince her good man that any such was true.

The judge having taken his place on the dais, called things to order and then the witnesses began their parade of testimony. The missus had hired a private detective and the evidence he and his operatives had garnered put the lie to every denial the respondent made. He was toast halfway through the proceedings.

My testimony wasn't really necessary, but it put the icing on the cake as far as any advantage to Doris Waring was concerned.

"So, Mister Miller," said his honor, addressing me as I sat in the witness chair. "Do you have firsthand knowledge of the alleged adultery?"

"Yes, your honor, I caught them in my, my wife's and mine, marital bed. It was the final straw."

"Yet you have not seen fit to divorce your wife. And, it has also been alleged, that you continue to pay the rent on your former residence and the utilities as well, although you no longer reside there. Are these things true things?"

"Yes, your honor," I said.

"Your reasons, Mister Miller?"

I spread my hands in an I-don't-know gesture. "I don't know, your honor, habit I guess."

"Hmm, yes, habit. All right, you may step down, Mister Miller." I was sure his honor thought me a fool.

Gillian was never called. I think that Doris, already certain of totally screwing her husband, had given her lawyer orders to forego challenging her. I think she was throwing me a crumb by not calling her which would have led to my having to hear my wife belittle me or contradict me. I appreciated her forbearance.

"Well, we won," said Doris, smiling outside the courtroom, "not that there was ever any doubt. The asshole screwed me over, now he can beg for his bread." I nodded. A minute later the cheaters exited and passed by us. I got a troubled look from Gillian, but she said nothing.

****

It was some weeks later that I got a communication from my most recent ex-squeeze, Martina. It was an invitation to her wedding to lawyer and now fiancé, Terry Underwood. I got a chuckle out of that one. I decided to accept. She and I had always gotten on good. True, I had been a bit upset with getting dumped by her, but I really had no right to be. And, she'd always treated me with respect and affection.

The day of the wedding broke bright and sunny. Fitting, it seemed to me, for such a happy event. Passing through the reception line, I got myself one ferocious lip bruising kiss from the bride and a more than hearty handshake from her new hubby; such set the tone for the rest of the day. After the mandatory speeches, dances, flower heaving and what all; the groom pulled me aside.

"No hard feelings, I mean me stealing your girlfriend and marrying her," he said, smiling.

"None. Envy yes, hard feelings no," I said. I think my smile was bigger than his. We talked for some minutes before some of his relatives, of which he had many, hijacked him. The partying went on into the night. I was certain the next day was going to be a painful experience for me. In that I proved to be more than correct.

****

In the several months following Martina's wedding to Terry, things settled down. I worked, I kept my seat warm at the Red Barn, and I dated a little. As far as the dating went, I didn't hook up with any particular female, and as far as getting' any was concerned, it wasn't happening.

"Red, pour this old man a last one, will yuh." I said. I'd been sittin in my usual spot at the end of the bar, and I was getting' ready for my evening swan song.

"Comin' up sport," he said. He set the drink down in front of me less than a minute later. "So, Herb, how yuh doin' feelin'? You in any condition to drive?"

"Good, good, I guess. And yes, I'm okay to drive. I'm just tryin' to get my shit together, and I've been lookin' for some female company, if you know what I mean; but so far no dice on the second part," I said.

"Yeah, well your luck will change; it always does," he said. "I speak from experience."

"Well, I sure hope so. Anyway, after this last one here, I'm gonna be hittin' the road. Got a big day at the shop tomorrow."

"Yeah, well good. I want somebody else besides me to be workin' hard," he snorted.

****

I was in a mellow mood as I drove home. Hitting the hay was my number one priority. Catherine Zeta Jones couldn't have induced me to stay up. Well, that was the case until she showed up at my door.

No, not Catherine Zeta Jones, Gillian!

I was just pulling on my underpants, after making a deposit to my porcelain account, when I heard a knock at the door. It was after 10:00PM. I swore, and headed for the door to answer it.

Opening the damn thing I was stopped cold. "Gillian!"

"Yes, Herb, it's definitely me. May I come in?" she said. I stood aside to let her pass.

"Not that it's not a wonderful surprise, Mrs. Miller, it is still Mrs. Miller isn't it? Though I hear you are figuring on divorcing me and marrying the asshole, right? Anyway, what are you doing here?" I said. I wasn't being too sarcastic. She sighed.

"Herb, he's not an asshole, okay? Anyway, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, I mean a divorce. Would that be okay?"

"No need on my account, Gillian, we haven't been man and wife in any real sense in a long time. Oh, and never doubt it, to me he will always be mister asshole," she gave me a frustrated look. "Nevertheless, if you feel the need . . ." I motioned her to have a seat on the couch. She did.

She tendered me a wan smile. "Well, I guess we've come to the actual end of the road," she said. I shrugged. "Herb, I want to say that my life with you was good. We had a lot of wonderful times, and, except for never having any babies; well, I just wanted to say thank you for the good times and all of the love I felt in our time together. We both fell silent for a moment. I could feel myself tearing up; well, it was an emotional moment.

"Yeah, I guess, Gillian. I do wish, well, I wish things had worked out differently. For the record I loved you, truly. Hell, I still do, just not enough to share you with the . . ." I stopped short of calling him names; it wasn't the right time for cussing.

"Rather than having you served, Herb, would you prefer to go to my lawyer's office and just sign the papers there. I mean, well I mean, I want this to be as painless as I can make it for us, for the both of us. I still love you too in case it matters," she said.

"Matter? It does and it doesn't, I guess. But, to answer your question, yes, I will go to your lawyer's office and take care of things.

"Gillian, I guess I have to ask, will there be any surprises for me when I get there?" She gave me a horrified look.

"No! My God no!" she said. "Just the divorce, nothing else! I wouldn't try to hurt you for anything, Herb, really. I mean really. You have to believe me." I waved her off.

"I do believe you, Gil. But, I did have to ask the question. I still trust you, in those ways, I just don't trust him.

"Gil, the time is going to come when he's gonna hurt you. I hate to say it, but I know it. When he does, well, I'll be around," I said.

"Herb, I know you mean well, but Michael is not that kind of guy. Really. I'll be fine. But, I thank you for your concern. I really do. I know you're still there for me." I just nodded. There'd be no convincing her; the black hat had won the damsel; the good guy would be riding off into the sunset, alone.

"Okay, Gil, whatever you say." We talked for a few more minutes, we rose from our seats, she gave me a hug, and then she was gone.

****

The divorce was final seven months to the day of Gil's visit to me. I was free, and lonely, and busy. Work work work, that was my way of dealing with, well, with life. For the most part it worked for me. There were melancholy moments, of course. I mean I'd lost the love of my life. I wondered if Gil had any of those moments.

I heard through the grapevine that she'd married him but two months after the divorce was final. It hurt. I'd known it was going to happen, but it still hurt and that a lot. God how I hated that man; I mean I viscerally hated him.

****

I didn't hear anything substantial about Gillian for a long time, maybe a year and a half. Then, I did.

"Yeah," said Red. They came in here a few nights ago. They were drunk, the both of them, and loud. Looked to me like their marriage was about to crater. I mean, when a couple gets to the calling each other names stage in less than two years of bein' hitched; well, it don't take no genius to figure out that they ain't gonna last."

"Names?" I said.

"Yeah, she was calling him cheater, liar, asshole, worse," he said.

I was remembering what I'd warned her about before the divorce. Remembering how I just knew that he was going to be cheating on her. I remembered too how she'd pooh-poohed the idea. Well the chickens had finally come home to roost.

"Yeah, well, I figured something like that was going to happen," I said.

"Are you going to do anything about it?" he said.

"Me! Why would I. She didn't care about me enough to hang with me instead of him. And, now that what he really is has become clear, I should be the one to pick up the pieces? Not hardly," I said.

"Hmm," he said, heading off down the bar.

****

I was getting ready to go out. I'd found that bar hopping was good for the memory loss I was doing my level best to cultivate. After almost nine months of singlehood, and not a single piece of ass during that whole time, I was horny, sad, and thirsty. I was starting to back out the driveway when a car pulled in behind me blocking my exit.

I got out and strode toward the driver's door of the other car. "What the fuck, asshole," I said to the darkly tinted window. The driver rolled it down.

"Sorry Herb," said Gillian.

"Gillian! What the fuck are you doing here? I'm on my way out," She suddenly broke down and began sobbing. Women!

"What do you need now, Gillian? I really was on my way out, as you can no doubt see," I said.

"I need help, Herb. I need help bad. Will you help me, Herb?" she cried. I sighed. I motioned her to get out of the car and come into the house.

She sat herself down at the dinette table and sniffled. I followed suit and sat too. I let her calm herself down. She'd tell me when she was ready; I had no doubt about that. I figured it had to do with the asshole; had to, but what exactly was still a question.

"I'm pregnant, Herb. I'm going to have a baby," she said. All of a sudden I had the chills. I couldn't immediately find any words to say. I guess I was staring.

"Herb?" she said.

"Huh?" I said.

"Herb he wants me to get an abortion. But, I can't; I just can't. I want to keep the baby. But he wants me to kill it, to kill the baby. I can't do it, Herb," she sobbed.

I went to her and knelt down in front of her. "Gil, it's okay. I told you I'd be here for you, and I will be, I am." She continued to sob, then whimper, then just occasionally shudder. I moved her to the couch in the front room, and sat with her. She fell asleep on my chest. I dared not move, and soon I was sleeping too.

****

Doris Waring had economically raped Michael Waring for his screwing around on her. Her dad had all but neutered him in the divorce, and had even threatened to pursue criminal action against him if he so much as farted in the neighborhood that used to be his home.

The bad news for Michael was, that despite what he'd at the time considered reasonable precautions, he'd managed to get Gillian pregers. Not in itself a disaster, more of an inconvenience, abortions were routine in this day and age, as he had indeed assured her. But, the “bitch” wouldn't go for it.

Complicating matters was the fact that she had caught him with Sandy. That had not been good. Sandy was fine for a roll in the hay, but for little else. Gillian Miller, on the other hand, was not only beautiful, a good fuck, and a reasonably intelligent female; she also worked and paid all of their bills; well, the one's her ex didn't pay as, inexplicably, he still did. He had to get her back on his side, but the doing of that was proving more difficult than had been his usual experience in such matters.

He took a deep breath and rapped on the other man's door.

"Michael Waring!" I said. "I don't wanna seem rude, but what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see Gillian. Look, I know you hate me, but I love her," he said.

"Well, it ain't happening, Mr. Waring. You shot your wad, blew your chance, bet on the wrong horse. Put another way, you fucked up. I hope I'm not being unnecessarily vague," I said. "But, you're right on one count, I do absolutely hate you!"

"I know she's here. Can I have a word with her. I opened the door wide enough so he could see into the room. She was standing right behind me.

"Go away, Michael. I'm not getting an abortion, and I am going to do my very best to try and prove to my husband, ex-husband, how sorry I am that I screwed up. You're history, Michael, and unmourned history at that," she said.

"Look. if you want to keep the baby that bad, I'm up for it. I've thought it over, and I realize I was wrong. Just let's go somewhere where we can have a cup of coffee and talk. Okay? Just a cup of coffee," he said.

"Just a cup of coffee?" she said.

"Yes, just coffee," he said.

"I remember the first time ever we had coffee together. You remember that time?" she said. "You know at Denny's I think it was?" She smiled.

"Of course," he said. He was smiling now. I'm sure he thought that he was making headway.

She lost the smile. "That cup of coffee cost me three years of my life. I never want to see you again. I mean no matter what. Got it! Find someone else to screw up the life of; I'm no longer in the market!" She turned and walked back into the house. The house that had been hers but a few years before, and, if there were a God, would be again.

****

We never heard from Michael Waring again, but we did hear from Doris Waring. She is a regular at our place now, her and her new beau. A nice fellow, whose brother is also a regular at our place, particularly whenever we had a barbecue. Cal Underwood, brother of Terry my good friend, was also a lawyer. Well, you had to know that something like this was gonna happen.

So what about me and Gil? Well we're living together. Gonna marry again? Maybe. The jury's still out.

She had the baby three weeks ago. Terry handled the lawyering that cut the biological father out of the picture. Turned out good 'ole Michael wanted to be payin' child support even less than he wanted to have the baby per se. It was a no brainer for him and maybe for me too. Helluva note.