Erica Olafson Voyages of the Tigershark Vol 8 Chapter 24 Crucible
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Tunnel Of LoveChapter 10: The Crucible free porn video
Fat man sitting on a little stool
Takes the money from my hand, while his eyes take a walk all over you
Hands me the ticket, smiles, and whispers "good luck"
Well, cuddle up angel, cuddle up my little dove
And we'll ride down baby, into this tunnel of love
Dr. Gayle Seymour tensed as the first footage on the DVD played.
The scene was a bathroom. The camera appeared to be placed above the mirror and sink. From its vantage point, it took in the whole bathroom, including a shower stall, enclosed by transparent glass. Gayle suppressed a snicker.
Any action in there; the camera would capture it. Who is this James Coltez? I've heard of some perverted stuff in my time, but a hidden camera in a bathroom?
On the screen, Jennifer entered the bathroom and closed the door. She approached the sink, turned on the water, and washed her hands. Meanwhile, she looked at herself in the mirror. The makeup around her eyes was spotty.
From crying—about the boy, probably, and by extension her sister. But that's quite a bit of makeup you have on, Jennifer. That was just to visit some kids at a hospital?
Jennifer dabbed some water on her face, then dried it. Reaching into her purse, she took out her makeup kit and did a quick patch job. Then, with the water still running, she just stared at herself.
Tell me, Jennifer, what did you see when you looked into your eyes? "Was it you, baby, or a just a brilliant disguise?"
Did you know the difference? Was there a difference?
Jennifer washed her hands once more, dried them, straightened her clothes, and left the bathroom.
They watched the rest of the video from the bathroom for a long time, but nothing else happened there. It dawned on Gayle that she could have fast-forwarded. As they'd been watching, however, no one had moved a muscle nor thought to do anything but study every frame.
Mike took a deep breath as the next set of footage began.
The image was of a dark hallway from above. He'd seen footage from this camera before, but not this footage. Almost immediately, a man emerged from one of the doors off the hallway. It wasn't the bathroom door Mike had seen Jennifer emerge from on the first DVD, and he couldn't see very far past it.
Looks like a small office, maybe? And that, of course, was Coltez coming out. Interesting that the footage started where it did. He must have gone into that room to turn on the cameras.
Coltez disappeared from view for a minute, but then returned ... with Jennifer. He was leading her by the hand. He gestured towards the door to the bathroom. Jennifer stepped inside and closed the door.
Coltez waited for a moment, seemingly listening. Then, satisfied of something, he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. There wasn't much sound, though Mike thought he caught a word here or there. Coltez's back was to the camera, so he couldn't read his lips.
Probably just calling another one of his girlfriends. A guy like that wouldn't have just one iron in the fire. I bet he'd had other plans for the night, but the kid's death had given him an opening with Jennifer. So he had to call off some other tramp he was going to fuck.
Coltez hung up and quickly left the hallway. A few moments later, Jennifer emerged from the bathroom. This part, they'd seen before. Jennifer walked down the hall, in the direction Coltez had taken, until she was out of sight.
Now for a long view of an empty hallway while they have some fun in the living room.
Time passed. There was no action in the hallway. Gayle picked up the remote control and hit the fast forward button. Still, no action. As the screen went black, she hit the play button to restore normal playback. The screen remained black for several moments.
Guess that's the end of the hallway scene. So they had all their fun in the living room and didn't go to the bedroom. Or else ... there's another hallway? Some other way there?
Jennifer fidgeted as the third set of footage began. The scene was a bedroom. Jennifer felt Mike's and Gayle's eyes on her. She shifted again, nervously.
No one appeared in view. Jennifer heard Gayle pick up the remote control from behind her and guessed why.
She knows nothing's going to happen while I'm in the bathroom and the living room.
Mike heard Gayle also. He turned around and shook his head. Gayle put down the remote. Again, Jennifer guessed why.
He wants to see every minute of this. Seeing is believing ... for better or worse.
Jennifer felt the tension mount as the minutes ticked by. She found herself holding her breath more than once. Finally the scene ended, and the screen went black again. No one had ever appeared in the room.
Jennifer exhaled sharply.
I didn't see all of this in Peter's house. I was afraid he might have ... altered the scene somehow. Well, now they know. Nothing happened ... in the bedroom.
Jennifer stole a glance at Mike. If the footage of the bedroom had relieved him any, he wasn't showing it. His expression and body posture had not changed since he'd first sat down.
He knows what's still to come. Oh god, can I watch this again? I'm going to ... remember what it was like, aren't I? I can't ... I can't bear it...
Suddenly, Jennifer remembered something she'd brought with her in her purse. While Mike and Dr. Seymour waited tensely for the final set of footage to begin, Jennifer reached into her purse. She pulled out a small, folded piece of stiff paper. She did not open it, but gripped it tightly in her hand.
Gayle shifted in her chair, anticipating what she expected to be the final footage. As the first image appeared, the scene was indeed the living room, captured in the same wide-angle shot they'd all seen before. The first images were new to them, however.
Just inside the closed front door to the apartment was Jennifer. She stood rooted there, quietly crying. Moments later, James entered the frame from what must have been the hallway.
"Jennifer," he said, "do you need to use the restroom or anything?"
Jennifer looked up at him, her eyes wide in surprise. As if she'd been lost in a trance and was wondering where she was.
"Yes," she eventually answered, "I need to ... freshen up."
James took her hand and led her down the hall.
Moments later, James returned the room. He stood off, his back to the camera, as Jennifer entered. This was a part Dr. Seymour, Mike, and Jennifer had seen before.
Jennifer approached James. He hugged her and led her to a couch. She sat down, leaned her head on his shoulders, and cried. He stroked her hair and started kissing her. She started kissing him. Then came the kiss on the lips, followed by James' fondling of her breasts while she rubbed his chest, his waist, and ultimately his crotch.
She unzipped his pants. She reached in and smiled. Moments later, she pulled out his cock and gazed at it. She jacked it off a couple of times. Then, massaging it, she stared up at James, right into his smiling eyes. Without looking away, she lowered her mouth to the head.
"You want me to lick this?" she asked.
"I do," James answered.
Gayle was on the edge of her seat. She'd known this scene well, of course—too well. Still, it had captivated her once again.
Now for the sequel.
On the screen, Jennifer smiled and flicked out her tongue. She leaned forward. The head of James' cock passed her lips.
But as it did, Jennifer's expression seemed to change. Just as her lips started to close around the shaft, her eyes flared and her jaw clenched. James recoiled.
Did she just ... bite him?
There was no howl, no scream. It must not have been too hard of a bite. James relaxed.
She probably was just nervous. I've made that mistake myself! She'll recover and get on with it. And I'm going to watch every minute of it, aren't I? It doesn't matter anymore. This is the end ... for me, as much as them.
But while Jennifer, on screen, held James' cock in her mouth, her lips and cheeks did not move. After several moments, her head jolted, as if she were snapping out of a spell. Quickly, almost as if in pain, Jennifer released James' cock.
"I ... I can't do this," she said.
"What do you mean?" asked James, looking on in disbelief.
"James ... this is wrong. I am married, for god's sake! And not only that, but I love him with all my heart! This is absurd; I have no idea what I am doing here. What the hell am I thinking?"
James' jaw dropped as Jennifer stood up. She looked down at him, seemed to notice his erect cock pointing straight at her, and blushed. She stood transfixed by it, for a moment, but then tore her eyes away and looked at James with resolve.
"James, as much as this pains me, I can't see you anymore. I have feelings for you, which I am sure you know. I think I may even love you. But I love my husband more and I will never hurt him."
Jennifer looked down, away from James and towards the floor. Shaking her head, as if in confusion, she continued.
"I don't know if it's even possible to love two men ... but I just had to grasp that fact. Once I did, everything became clear. I have a choice. My heart chose Mike a long time ago."
James seemed stunned. Then he winced as tears formed in his eyes. He began to cry.
Jennifer looked up and saw him sobbing. Her expression changed to one of sympathy. "Oh James, I am so sorry! If I had never met Mike..."
She leaned down and kissed him. Then, turning away, she walked towards the door. She opened it, paused ... but did not look back. Stepping through, she closed the door gently behind her, and was gone.
James hardly seemed to notice Jennifer's departure. He remained on the couch, cock deflating and tears flowing. Eventually, he put himself back in order, rose from the couch, and headed towards the hall.
Moments later, the screen went black, then blue. The video was over. Gayle exhaled deeply and sank back into her chair.
Well, she told the truth ... pretty much. She didn't have sex with him. Didn't give him a blowjob, either. But damn, that was close—as close as it gets. And while this closes one can of worms, it opens another.
Mike felt paralyzed.
On the one hand, the new footage had been nothing like his nightmares. There'd been no worshiping of James' cock; Jennifer's lips had closed around it, but there'd been no licking, no sucking. Moreover, there'd been no fucking. No humiliating dialogue, either—no screaming orgasms, no testimonials to James' physique or sexual prowess, no derogatory comments about Mike. On the contrary, Jennifer had stood up for him—in a way—leaving that player behind, crying, with a serious case of blue balls.
No, the scene hadn't unfolded like his nightmares.
"Seeing is believing." Okay, I guess I believe they didn't have sex. Is that a relief? Yes.
On the other hand, the new footage was a whole different nightmare.
When Jennifer had first told him that she'd "gotten physical" with Coltez, Mike had imagined—or assumed—that her feelings for him had been a combination of sexual attraction and empathy, one or both born of distress. The new footage, however, opened up a new and terrible dimension.
She loved him? She fell in love with him? She never said ... never even hinted...
Even when I saw the video, that part of it I saw the first time, I thought it was just lust, sluttiness. I thought that there was no love in her at all; none for me, for him, for anyone. That love was just a mask she could put on. That at heart, she was just a whore.
She fell in love with him? But ... she also loved me?
Looking at Jennifer, Mike thought about the Springsteen song that had come to him on Black Sunday—"Brilliant Disguise." It played in his head again, as his gaze alternated between Jennifer and the television screen. There was the Jennifer he'd married, and the Jennifer who'd snuck around with Coltez. So many times, since Black Sunday, he'd wondered which was real and which was the disguise.
If what Jennifer had said to Coltez was true—and he wasn't sure it could be true—then the two Jennifers were both real. There was a Jennifer that loved and lusted after Mike, and a Jennifer that loved and lusted after the other guy. So maybe "Brilliant Disguise" wasn't the right song from Tunnel of Love. Maybe the better one for Jennifer was "Two Faces."
One that laughs, one that cries
One says hello, one says goodbye
One does things I don't understand
Makes me feel like half a man
The two Jennifers inhabited the same body. Both user profiles seemed locked; Mike saw no way to eliminate the unwanted one, without wiping the whole system. That, however, would eliminate the wanted one as well.
No way to exorcise the bad from the good.
The thought of exorcism brought to Mike's mind a play he'd read in high school. A play, written by Arthur Miller, about the Salem witch trials. Trials of seemingly ordinary and good women who convicted of being possessed by evil and found to be beyond redemption.
What did they do with witches? In Salem, they hanged them. But the traditional way, in stories, was to burn them. Burn them at the stake.
Torch the witch...
Jennifer and Dr. Seymour looked at him expectantly. He made a sound, which resembled the clearing of one's throat. But it might easily have been mistaken for the sound of a pyre igniting.
"I have some questions," Mike announced.
Jennifer was shaking. Tears were streaming down her face. Her hands were in her lap, the right one clenched around the left. In that left hand, she tightly gripped the object she'd removed from her purse.
This is it now, isn't it, Sis?"This is the beginning ... but not the worst part."
I can't do it. It was enough, just to have to watch it. Please, just let me die now.
"Yes, you may die. Slowly, painfully. The fire is set, Jennifer. This room is like a vessel. In it, you may burn ... or melt."
Please, no...
"You came here, Jennifer, knowing this would be your trial. The jury is empanelled. You're on the stand."
It's too much. I can't do it.
"Yes you can. You will. Speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
The words—real or imagined—cast a sudden calmness over Jennifer. It was a feeling of doom, so inevitable it was almost peaceful. She felt like a prey animal caught by a predator. Instead of struggling, she relaxed, resigned to what was about to happen.
"So you went to the hospital that night," Mike began. "You found out that one of the kids had died, and it made you very upset. But instead of coming home right away, to me, you spent time with ... him?"
Jennifer's voice was flat and calm. Her stare was almost vacant. She spoke almost as if hypnotized, as if drugged with truth serum.
"Yes. At the hospital I ... I sat down next to James and leaned against him. He put his arm around me, and we cried together. He said he needed a drink, that he had some 'special stuff' at his apartment for times like these. He asked me to join him."
"Did you suggest going to a public place instead, or better yet, remind him that you were married and suggest that he find someone else to have a drink with?"
"No, Mike, I didn't."
"On your way to his apartment, did you change your mind?"
"No. I told myself that James and I needed each other. That you wouldn't be able to help me, Mike. That you hadn't been in the trenches with me."
Mike let those words hang in the air for a moment; then he took aim and fired. He excoriated Jennifer for dismissing him, the father of her child, as being incapable of sympathizing with her pain. Mikey's birth, various late night emergency room visits, sundry perils faced ... Mike made the case that he'd been in the equivalent of the Mariana Trench with Jennifer, more than once.
Jennifer made no effort to stop Mike's attack or defend herself. She agreed with everything he said. Mike drew a deep breath.
"So you went to his apartment," he said, picking up the remote control. He found the beginning of the scene in the living room and pressed play. They watched Jennifer leave the room, go to the bathroom, and return.
"After pulling yourself together a little in the bathroom, did you tell him that you'd made a mistake, that you needed to leave?"
"No."
"Instead, you let him hug you ... and then you sat down on the couch with him?"
"Yes."
"Tell me ... did you ever have that drink? That 'special stuff?'"
Jennifer hesitated; her expression was first surprise, then disappointment. "No."
"What were you going to do on that couch, if you weren't going to have a drink?"
Jennifer hesitated again. Her grip tightened on the object in her hand. She spoke slowly and haltingly, as if, on exit, each breath that carried her words seared her lungs and throat.
"I ... I was going to ... be with him, Mike. I needed to stop feeling the pain. I needed an escape."
Mike played some more of the video, then paused it again.
"So he kissed you. And you let him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I thought it was the only thing that would make me forget the pain. I needed to be comforted."
"Not by me? Did you even think of me?"
"For a moment, yes. I though ... I thought, 'Mike, I'm sorry. Only James can help me with this pain.'"
"And that's when you started kissing him back?"
"Yes."
"So how did it feel? Comforting?"
Jennifer trembled.
"It felt ... interesting ... grief and ... lust mixed together. As he kissed me ... my body was on fire. The combination of lust and grief was so strong..."
Mike shook his head and played some more of the video. They watched the French-kissing, James' fondling of Jennifer's breasts, and her traveling hands. As James was tugging her nipples through her clothes, Mike paused the video.
"At this point," Mike asked, "you decided to put your hand on his crotch and feel him up?"
"Yes. I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted ... I wanted to see him."
"So you unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick?"
"Yes."
Mike again advanced the video. They watched Jennifer put James' cock in her mouth, then stop and speak to James. They watched James answer. They watched Jennifer hesitate and ultimately stop. Mike paused the film again.
"When you asked him if he wanted you to lick it, and he said 'I do, ' is that what triggered something in your mind? It reminded you of our wedding vows?"
"Yes."
"Including the parts about forsaking all others and being faithful only to me? And that's what stopped you from carrying on?"
"Yes. And I remembered you standing there when we said those things, how you looked, how I felt. It shook me out of whatever was ... happening there, with James."
Mike drew a deep breath. "But your wedding vow didn't stop you from responding to his advances at the gym?"
Jennifer hesitated. Her face showed a curious expression that was hard to read. "Advances..." she finally said, "You don't understand, Mike—"
"I'll take that as a 'no, '" Mike said impatiently. "And your vow didn't stop you from lying to me about the hospital ... continuing to be his gym buddy ... developing feelings for him ... going to his apartment ... fooling around with him ... or fishing out his dick and putting your mouth around it?"
"No Mike, it didn't."
"And if you hadn't happened to ask him a question that happened to make him say two words that happened to make you finally remember your wedding vows, you would have gone through with it?"
Jennifer hesitated again; this time, seemingly, out of overwhelming shame.
"YOU WOULD HAVE SUCKED HIS COCK?"
Jennifer's hands flew to her face as she hung her head and began to sob. "I don't know how far it would have gone, Mike! But yes, I guess ... a lot more would have happened."
Mike seemed embarrassed by his sudden loss of composure; like a butcher, maybe, unprofessionally wincing at the sight of blood. Reinstating his calm, matter-of-fact cadence, he continued.
"But unluckily for him, your wedding vow came to mind in time to stop you?"
"It did!"
"You didn't want to break a promise?"
"Right."
"So it wasn't love for me that stopped you—just your sense of honor?"
Jennifer's demeanor suddenly changed. She stopped sobbing, and her face turned resolute. Her soft, resigned voice solidified.
"No, that's not right, Mike. You heard me say it, to him, on the video. I told him I couldn't do it, not just because I was married, but because I loved you with all my heart. And then, I felt confused ... like I didn't know how or why I had ended up there, holding ... his..."
As Jennifer's voice trailed off, Mike played the rest of the video.
"So," he said when it was over, "love stopped you? Love for me?"
"Yes!"
"And after your love for me came flooding back, you said you couldn't see him anymore?"
"Yes."
"You didn't say, 'We can't be friends anymore' or something like that, you said you couldn't 'see' him anymore? Like you had been dating? Like you were breaking up with him?"
"I guess ... yes."
"And then you said it pained you ... even after you remembered your love for me, it pained you to stop seeing him?"
"Yes."
"And you said you had feelings for him ... that you thought you loved him?"
"Yes."
"This is after you 'remembered' that you loved me?"
"Yes. It didn't make sense to me, at first. It confused me. I didn't think such a thing could be possible, to love two men at the same time ... but I realized it was."
"So you felt you loved both of us, but you decided to break things off with him, instead of me?"
Once again, Jennifer's expression and tone of voice changed. "Yes, Mike, I never ... I never thought of leaving you for him, ever. Not before that night, not during that night, not after that night."
"Because you loved me more? Is that why you chose me over him?"
"Yes!"
"But you'd already chosen me, before that night, right? In fact, that's what you said to him—that you'd chosen me a long time ago?"
"Yes," Jennifer answered hesitatingly, as if bothered by the implication of the question.
"And didn't you just walk away from him after remembering me; you said some more things, didn't you? You said you were 'sorry, ' and that if you'd never met me... '"
"Yes," Jennifer replied, again weakly.
"Meaning you were sorry that you'd met me first, sorry that you were married and not free to take up with him?"
In a flash, Jennifer's hesitation was gone. "No, Mike, that's not what I meant," she said resolutely. "I was sorry for him. Sorry that I might have led him on. He was crying, Mike, and I was trying to tell him that the problem was me, not him."
"Actually, it sounded like you were telling him that the problem was me."
"Whatever it sounded like, Mike, you're wrong!" Jennifer replied, raising her voice defiantly. "I didn't leave that apartment feeling like I'd married too soon, like I'd married the wrong person. I've never regretted marrying you, Mike—never. Except ... except now ... because of how I've hurt you."
As sorrow overtook Jennifer and she began to sob again, Mike looked away. "So he cried, you apologized, but you still didn't leave right then, did you? Instead, you kissed him?"
"Yes."
Jennifer barely managed a "yes" before her sobbing burst into crying. Mike shook his head, but underneath his disdain he seemed as uncomfortable as her. His body tensed, relaxed, tensed, and relaxed. Finally, he exhaled deeply and held up his hand in a gesture that could have been interpreted in any number of ways.
"We're almost done," he said, his words and tone of voice equally ambiguous.
Gayle watched Mike's interrogation of Jennifer with fascination. What the world had gained in a software engineer, she thought, it had lost in a lawyer. Jennifer's make-out scene with James seemed so squalid now—sad, just sad and shameful. The scene's former eroticism had evaporated.
Which led Gayle to suspect there was some other agenda behind Mike's interrogation besides convicting Jennifer of a crime. Except once or twice, Mike had not gotten angry or even animated. It was almost as if he was just getting something over with; something unpleasant and distasteful but sadly necessary.
Yes, he's roasted her, but it's as if he's been standing in the fire with her. Burning himself, as much as her. Burning away the disbelief, the anger, the indignation? Or would a better analogy be a cauterization ... like putting a hot piece of metal to a wound he has no other way to close?
Gayle wondered to what end the conflagration would lead. If Mike was desensitizing himself to what Jennifer had done, was he doing it in preparation for reconciliation, or divorce? Or, was he just trying to destroy Jennifer, and himself, to no other end?
Gayle found Jennifer's responses as fascinating as Mike's questions. Jennifer had answered most of his inquiries simply, directly, and unemotionally without getting defensive or argumentative. She'd stood in the withering fire of his interrogation without firing back; without resorting to the justifications or excuses she'd offered in the past. She'd rarely even offered the straight explanations that had come out in prior sessions.
She knows I remember them, that Mike remembers them. She knows that his examination has not brought out the whole story—things that might put her actions in context, put her in a better light. But it's as if she wants to be judged, wants to be punished ... wants the truth laid out, utterly unvarnished and unmitigated. Why?
There had been flourishes, though—some answers Mike had not expected. In demeanor and tone, Jennifer had been convincing when she'd said she never stopped loving Mike, she'd never thought of leaving him for James, and she'd never regretted marrying him. The fact that she'd answered so many other damaging questions with soul-baring honesty lent credibility to those claims.
And this business about "loving" James ... more like a hard crush, probably. Infatuation. How many times have I seen it before? Maybe she already knows that what she felt for James wasn't comparable to what she had with Mike. If we were in a real session, I could comment on that, help them through it ... but that's not what Jennifer wants. No excuses, no mitigations! Why?
There was something curious too about her reaction when Mike brought up James' "advances." And there's something remarkable about how completely she recalls her thoughts and her feelings despite both the passage of time and the effort her subconscious put into suppressing or twisting things. It's as if she's reading from a transcript; from a record made by someone else.
Gayle found the transcript analogy apt for another reason. Jennifer had spoken with authority but detachment; like a court reporter, flatly reading back a witness's answer—or someone reading from a diary, years after writing the entries. The thoughts and emotions recorded might have been real once; authentic and intense. However, distanced by time, newer experiences, and newer perspectives, the old thoughts and emotions might seem ... well, not unintelligible, but perhaps not controlling anymore.
Like reading an old love letter written to an old flame. You might not doubt the genuineness of the sentiment expressed at the time, but now ... now, if you remember it at all, it could almost be a scene from a movie you'd seen, a passage in a story you'd read ... devoid of present feeling, of personal connection.
Jennifer had called this meeting. Despite what was on the DVD, she'd wanted to show it to Mike. She'd answered all of his questions and taken a beating in doing so. Why? Did she intend the truth to clear the air, possibly for some sort of redemption—or to seal a verdict against her? Or was the truth the end unto itself, and whatever lay beyond, unclear to her?
All your questions may be answered soon, Doctor. Will you contribute here tonight? Do you have anything left to offer, or has this case gotten away from you?
Mike no longer felt paralyzed. He just felt like shit.
He'd taken Jennifer apart, torching her for everything that had happened that night with James—and, by extension, everything that had happened before. He'd watched skin, then muscle, the bone burn; he could even smell it. When he'd started, he'd felt it necessary; but now that he was almost done, he wasn't so sure.
Did I offer anything insightful? Constructive? No, I pointed out the obvious—that she'd done selfish, stupid, immoral, or maybe just incomprehensible things. That I have clear and convincing grounds to divorce her. But it's not like she's denying any of it. If I'm trying to make a point, why?
Rowan
- 21.11.2021
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