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Live From The GameChapter 4 free porn video
The next day I was up and out early, ostensibly to go to work. In reality I just bummed around at the movies and at a tavern in Rolling Meadows. But, as promised, I arrived home early. Deanna didn't even want to talk to me, she was still pissed at me from the night before. Things were very frosty – words were exchanged when they needed to be and no more.
She came down while I was playing Sky Landers with Saffron and Paula was doing homework. Jamie had a controller but wasn't aware it wasn't connected. He thought he was controlling my character. I knew that I'd be looking over Paula's math homework later – it was all fractions and she couldn't get some of the concepts behind them, and we'd re-trace the work and I'd explain it to her. It was great, watching her eyes widen when she finally groked a new concept. I did love having kids.
Deanna came down, wearing her pleated skirt, and thigh high stocking socks, 4 inch heels and a thin white blouse, with lace covering her breasts, but that was backless. We'd seen it together in New Orleans, and bought it, then she'd worn it on Bourbon street, getting many bead necklaces.
She was tastefully made up, and wearing the long earrings I got her last Christmas. I looked up and took her in. It was funny, but at that moment I really understood that something big was ending. This wasn't going to happen again. I was going to destroy her and her lover and this idyllic life was going to end. There wouldn't be ... this any more. I just remember thinking "This is all going to go away." And I also realized that I was in the drivers seat. I was going to end it. And I hadn't really even given her a chance to stop.
Realizing that, I smiled at her and said gently, "Deanna ... stay home. Stay with us. Don't go out. That celebration isn't as important as your family, surely?"
She looked at me, clutching her white purse. I could actually see her hesitate, then look over at Paula, sitting at the table, head down, counting. Then back at Jamie and Saffron, and then at me. When she saw me, her mouth clenched a bit, and she just shook her head and said, "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support my friend in her hour of success?"
She didn't look back at me as she left the house.
Well ok then. She'd made her bed. Time to set fire to it.
The next day, I was up and out early. Straight downtown to Jordan Lawler's apartment building. I honestly didn't want to deal with Deanna, knowing what she'd done the night before. I think that at this point I had realized that I was also part of the problem. I was avoiding her, not giving her any opportunity to even remotely show me her side, not that she would do so explicitly.
Even last night, she'd come home late and I could smell wine on her as she climbed into bed with me. She also smelled of soap – she'd obviously showered.
I could understand when I read stories about how conflicted the husbands were. So many commentators just want the blood. They have unresolved issues in their own lives, and mix that with a dose of misogyny, and all they wanted was the women in these various stories to suffer. It was all so black and white. Until you've been there, watching the women you love, and who purports to love you, lie to you and betray you, you have no idea how it feels.
And yet, she's still the mother of your children. She still treats you well. She'd tried to get me into bed. Even from the conversations I'd heard from the recorder and from what Crystal and that total fuck bag, Jordan Lawler had told me, she still loved us. Me, the kids and her life. She just had this entire other dimension to her life right now that we knew nothing about.
I mean really, if I'd not known from that phone call from Simon, I'd never have known. I have to admit that. I would never have looked for it, and I'd never have seen it. She honestly didn't feel any different in the way she treated me or the kids.
If I chose to, I could walk away, she'd never know I knew, it would die when cunt face went back to Philly, and hell, if I'd wanted to, I could probably have gone out and done the same as her. Christ knows, she wasn't in a position to object.
Maybe that's what I should have done. Gone out and had my own fling. Let her know about it obliquely, see how she'd have dealt with the betrayal.
The problem is though, I do know. I know all about it. I know all the details. I know the disrespect being placed upon me and my house, despite the absolute bullshit my wife has decided to justify her dalliance with. She's scratching an itch that I never even knew about, much less was given a chance to satisfy.
Plus, I was old fashioned enough to understand that two wrongs never made a right. Sure, it would balance and it would make us even, but more than likely it would destroy us if she were to imagine I'd done the same. Whatever justifications she had in her head, they more than likely weren't thought through in terms of them being applied to her and would never survive me doing the same thing. The hypocrisy would come up, and while she'd find a way to live with it, things would never be the same. She'd never trust me and I, for myself, would never trust her again. Not with the lying and deception ability she'd already displayed.
The fact is, I was angry, betrayed, bitter, upset and ranging between suicidal and plain Seeing Red Rage. I could see no way to forgive this, not in the way that our relationship would survive. I was sure that in the years to come, the anger and pain would dull, but there was no way I was going to spend the rest of my life coming to terms with her betrayal with her sitting next to me.
She'd destroyed my trust and faith in her, and without that, what is a marriage?
In Storiesonline stories, there always seems to be a woman who comes along to help salve the wounded ego of the guy concerned. Always some high school honey, or some waitress or some woman met in a hotel or something. Always someone there to help pick up the pieces. There wasn't that in this case, and I wouldn't have had anything to do with someone trying anyway. I was damaged goods and I knew it. I'd spend years getting over this, I knew. As I'd said to Crystal, what Deanna had done to me would echo for years. My manhood, my ego, my sexual being, it was all crushed.
And I didn't even know why. I had ideas from all the evidence I'd gathered, but I'd never heard it from the horse's mouth. I knew at some point I'd have sit down and listen, but not yet. Too soon; I'd be too angry. It would be about hurting her, not listening to what she had to say.
So here I was, sitting in a supply closet off a laundry room, looking at video on a Macbook Air screen, and crying my eyes out.
It was all there. I didn't get any footage of them in the living room – only one camera – but what happened in the bedroom, well, it was painful on every level.
First, the conversation.
When they stumbled into the bedroom, Deanna's blouse was already almost hanging off – he'd obviously had his hands up her shirt. When she got on the bed, she'd accidentally flashed the camera up her skirt and she wasn't wearing any panties either.
He was half out of his clothes, his cock hanging out of his boxer shorts. I was pleased to see that he wasn't any bigger than I was, but it was the last thing I was pleased to see that day.
He looked at her, splayed out on the bed and said, "Man, I can't believe you are here. So lovely, so sexy. That husband of yours is an asshole."
Deanna closed her legs and pouted. "That idiot. All I wanted was to give him a night to remember. We haven't had sex in almost two weeks, something is always getting in the way. I honestly wanted to give him my ass. You know my rules, nothing you get, he doesn't. But the fucker came home drunk off his feet. I was all ready and lubed, and he just fucked it all up."
"Your ... ass?" said Jordan, clearly interested in what he was hearing.
"Yeah. Thought it was time. You and I have done everything else," she replied. "I'll find some time to get him in there later. We can reverse the order today. He deserves it anyway. He had the chance and he'd rather drink himself to sleep instead. Fuck him."
"I'd rather you did that to me..."
And then it went on. And on. And on. She got him up three times. She even did ass to mouth. I thanked god I'd been asleep when she got home and up early this morning, so she hadn't kissed me.
He still tried to get her to say she loved him. There were lots of, "Oh man, I LOVE doing this with you, don't you?" and "I'm going to miss this when I'm back in Philly. Won't you? Tell me how you feel" and other transparent attempts to get her to say it.
I thought I'd be numb by now. The evidence was there, and there was no getting away from it. I wasn't misinterpreting anything; she was a whore for some other guy. No, a slut. Whore's get paid.
But I wasn't numb. It was so hard to watch. I kept pausing it and crying again. But I forced myself to watch it all. I needed to see it all, if only to keep me on the path I'd set out on. I loved the woman, but I had too much respect for my own self to allow this to be unchallenged.
The ending was painful. Deanna had taken a shower and was getting dressed and he was just lying on the bed, lazy and content.
"So, back to suburbia?" he'd said, contemptuously.
"Back to suburbia," she'd agreed.
"Doesn't it get boring?"
She'd stopped pulling up her sock stockings and looked at him and said, "Why do you think I'm here? Of course it does. Kids, PTSO runs, husband boring me to tears with his day? It's fucking mind numbing. But it's my life, and I do love my kids and the stability I have. I have the love of a good man, and I love him back, but its Just Not Enough. I'm just lucky I have this. We both know this won't last, but I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it while I can, so I have the memories."
Jordan smiled and grabbed his dick. "So, you'll be thinking of this when you fuck him, is that it?"
She smiled back and said, "I'm already doing that, lover."
And that was the final nail through my heart, even if I was confusing metaphors.
I spent half an hour editing the video and transferring it to a USB memory stick, then packed up the computer and power cords and left the building.
I rolled into Sarah Gold's office, breezing in like I owned the place. She looked up from her computer and then pushed her chair back.
"Aha. So, we have more proof?" was her first question. Not "hello Ryan" or even "Can't you wait outside", no, straight to the root of the matter.
I dropped the USB key on her desk and she looked at it, then looked at me and said, as she picked it up, "There had better not be any viruses on this."
She plugged it in, and opened the device – several files showed up, the first being the video. Naturally, she opened that first and sat watching for about a minute. Then she shut it down and said, "That's quite enough of that."
Then she looked at me and said suddenly, "Where was this ... collected?"
"His place."
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You idiot. There is no way this is admissible in court. What did you do, break in and plant the camera?"
"Play 'acceptance.wav'" I replied.
She looked at the screen and selected that file. Out came me asking Jordan Lawler for permission to shoot in his place, how footage would be necessary and him assuredly giving permission.
"Clever," snarled Sarah, "But a good lawyer will shred that. He wasn't giving you permission to leave a camera and tape his sexual adventures."
"Oh I know," I said sitting down in front of her desk. "But I'm pretty sure we even just mention that this exists, and that'll change things. And I really needed to know if it was happening, and it is. Plus it might be useful if we get sued for anything."
Sarah stared at me over the top of her laptop monitor and said, slowly, "Are you going to make my life difficult, Mr. Tomlinson? Please tell me you aren't going to do anything stupid."
I was very clear with my response. "No, I will not be doing anything 'stupid', as you put it. I know what is expected of me." I didn't think what I had planned was stupid, and the other statement was purely placatory, without actually saying anything at all.
She nodded and then grabbed a folder from a selection on her desk and threw it to me.
"Well, it's all there. There are two versions, one for you keeping the house, the other with you giving it to her. You know you are going to be paying her child support, even if you get away with no alimony."
"I know. What's your feeling on the alimony?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Hard to know for sure. You are one hundred percent in the right here, and she's one hundred percent in the wrong, so if it was just down to that, you'd not be paying any. But it's all to do with how good her lawyer is, which judge we get and so on. But I'd certainly not say that there's anything in your case where I'd say 'yes, this is likely'. Really, the proof of the pudding will be in the eating in this case."
I nodded – it was what I had expected.
"So, this'll be filed next Wednesday? Where we said?"
"Yep. The alienation suit is in there too, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope of that one. Worth it just to make him squirm though."
"Ok then. What about the restraining order?"
"That won't be ready till Wednesday. It has to be filed the day you want it in effect. I'm pretty sure we can get it, but you know it won't last. We are going to be stretching the situation here a bit, and once her lawyer sees it and challenges it, it'll be removed."
"I know. It's really only to give me some peace in the interim, to be honest. I'll probably be asking you to rescind it within a couple of weeks anyway. So, I guess we get these served, do the financial stuff, pick up the order on Wednesday and then move on with our lives?"
"Well, you do. I still have to come here and do this soul sucking job," replied Sarah, looking round at her office.
"Well, god bless you for doing it." I was attempting a little levity.
Sarah Gold stared at me, and then said, "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. And pay my bill, cheapskate. I did my part."
I smiled and pulled out my checkbook.
The day it all kicked off, I was at Paul's, with Solomon and Simon. We were watching the game, keeping an eye out to see if the camera's flicked over them sitting in his season ticket seats, or not.
I'd gone back to work that week, and found the utter disaster that Paul had made of a contract with a company who wanted us to build their office for them. There was no way we'd be able to do it for the amount they'd contracted to us, not with all the special stuff they wanted.
But Paul just smiled and cheerfully said, "Make it work, Ryan!"
So off I'd gone, contract in hand, to Jonathan Bruty, handed him the contract, then listened to him swearing for five minutes.
Paul hadn't even passed it by our counsel – he'd just listened to what the other side said, smiled broadly and signed it. They had to believe all their Christmases had come at once. I spent most of the afternoon going over the contract, looking for weaknesses in order to be able to push up our billing.
In the end we found a clause, and I then had the wonderful job of arranging a meeting with the other company's CEO to explain exactly how he'd tried to take advantage of us, and how we weren't going to accept it, and here was how we'd fight back.
Strangely, the guy laughed. Not the kind of "I'm about to eat your young" laugh, but the raucous laugh of a man who sees the joke.
"Ryan, we couldn't believe it when you weren't there for the negotiations. Of Course we tried to get one over on you. It's business, that's what business is. I quite expected you to come back to me – that's why that clause is there. I wanted to see if you'd actually do something about it. You have, as I hoped and expected. Now you have, we can do business."
I didn't quite understand, and said so.
"Ryan, what we really want is to get you guys to build facilities for us all over the US. The fact is, we just got a grant from the US Government to create educational facilities everywhere. And we need help building them. The fact is you come very highly recommended as someone with some integrity, and I need that. Now, you want to tear up that contract and take a look at this one, instead?"
He pulled up a sheaf of papers from his desk and tossed them over to me. I just sat there, bewildered.
I took that new contract back to Jonathan Bruty, and this time he just laughed all the time when looking at it. His eyes gleamed when he looked at me over the top of the papers and said, "Now, this is a well written contract. And fair. This is good stuff Ryan. You'll need a lot more staff though, to do all this."
I winced. "Oh, I know. I think we are going to need a second plant."
"Well, that's good then," replied Jonathan. Then he stopped and peered at me closer. "Are you doing ok Ryan? That whole thing with your wife?"
I looked away. "It's under control," I said, deliberately being vague. "So, what's the first thing we need to do, legally?"
That was yesterday, and today I'm about to blow up my marriage, in the most spectacular way possible.
I was sitting at Paul's house, with a beer in hand, watching the game, and idly wondering who was picking up the kids from school, bearing in mind their mother – who was supposed to be handling it – was sitting at Wrigley Field with her boyfriend. In fact, who had been handling it the other days when I was completely unaware? On impulse, I called home and found that my sister in law, Melissa, answered the phone.
I didn't like Melissa much and she didn't like me. She'd made a snap judgment on me at the start of my courtship with Deanna and never bothered to look any deeper to find out if it was true or not. I'd been judged and that was that. Initially I'd tried to reverse her opinion of me, figuring that keeping everyone in Deanna's family sweet was a good call, but she was a lost cause. The more I tried, the more she found fault with everything I did. After a year or so, I just stopped bothering and wrote her off. I got on fine with her brother, and both her parents had died in car accident when Deanna was a late teen.
I did idly wonder if Melissa was aware of what was going on; she struck me as the kind of person who would take delight in my misfortune, and I wasn't about to test that. I just checked in that she had the kids and would be there till either I or Deanna got home. Melissa had the luck to marry a millionaire, who then died on her. I figured he hadn't so much died as much as run away. Either way, she was now loaded and had nothing to do with her day. With no kids of her own, she was a great resource for baby-sitting. I got the distinct impression that she just wasn't interested in men or dating at all; she'd got her payout, now it was all about her.
And her nieces and nephew. I had to give her her due in that – she did love them and dote on them. She may not have liked me, but she loved those kids. The interesting thing about Melissa was that she was great about sharing her time with us, but it had been made clear that her money was her money and that was that, so don't ask. Not that we would have anyway, but still, that point was made quite forcefully to us. So we just settled for her company and her baby-sitting the kids. And what a joy it was to return home when she'd been there, let me tell you. Kids asking why I wasn't home more, why I didn't teach them to play soccer – all primed by Man Hating Melissa. Deanna just laughed when this happened but it pissed me off, I have to admit.
Anyway, I spoke to her for a few minutes, then, before hanging up, I asked her if she still had the extra room at her place. She said that she did, why did I want to know? I made a cryptic reference to her having a roommate some time soon and let it go.
And then it was time. The bottom of the sixth innings. Solomon was on his laptop and he looked at me, asking if we were a go.
I held up my finger and pulled out my phone. I couldn't quite believe I was going to give her one more chance. I called her number and after a few rings, she picked up. I could hear rustling, where she was trying to make sure the phone didn't pick up the announcers voice at the stadium.
"Yes?" she was abrupt.
"Deanna."
"What do you want? I'm with a client."
"Come home. Please. We need you. Come home now. Leave your 'client' and come home."
"Ryan, what's the matter with you? The kids are fine, Melissa is with them."
"I know, I just called home looking for you. Where are you?"
"Why do you care? Look, I'll be home this evening. What's so important that I have to leave now?"
"I just ... need you. I need you to come home. Please. For us. For me."
"Ryan, I'm in the middle of an important meeting here. I can't just leave. I'll be home this evening. We can talk then. Whatever it is, it can wait."
And she disconnected the phone.
And, with tears trickling down my face, I nodded at Solomon. Simon put his hand on my shoulder and said, "It's what needs to happen dude. It's going to be alright."
Solomon started typing, saying, "We've been in since the game started. I can see the directors commands."
On the TV, where the game was playing, the stadium jumbotron suddenly did one of its display things, between a play.
"HEY FOLKS!" it said, "REMEMBER THESE TWO? FROM A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO?"
And then it ran a quick image of my wife and Jordan Lawler making out, with the inscription "KISS CAM" at the bottom.
"THEY ARE BACK HERE TODAY!" This is where it got tricky. I had got Simon to approach the cameramen whose names were in the credits for the TV show of the last game and explained what we wanted to do, and the one guy we really needed had agreed to what we'd asked. We'd asked that when the Jumbotron started talking about this couple, he find them with his camera and zoom in on them. This was our problem – there were seven cameramen working the stadium and we didn't know which one was the guy with the camera opposite where Jordan had his tickets – he was the one guy we really needed. But it turns out we'd gotten lucky – one of the other guys had laughed and explained that when the jumbotron started acting up, he'd zoom in on the big screen, to be sure that the details were broadcast on the national feed.
Solomon was zapping between two different laptops – one was in control of the Jumbotron and the other was taking control of the vision mixing software used at Wrigley Field to decide which camera was being broadcast. The problem was that the software just assigned camera numbers, and we had no idea which camera was which. We'd been watching all game, matching up the camera numbers being selected by the director with what we were seeing, to determine which one was which.
We'd worked it out, and now we could put up whatever camera we wanted on the Jumbotron. And we had. The cameraman – on camera #5 – had come through for us and was zoomed in on Deanna and Jordan, who were watching the big screen and laughing, pointing at themselves on the Jumbotron, once Solomon switched the feed to that camera.
On the TV, showing the game, we could also see the jumbotron, since the other cameraman had also done what he said he would, zooming in on it, so everyone would see it.
Then the image switched to a picture of Deanna, taken from her birthday party last year.
"THIS IS DEANNA TOMLINSON." Read the caption.
Then it switched to an image of Jordan, taken from his facebook page.
"HER COMPANION IS JORDAN LAWLER."
Then it switched a picture of me.
"DEANNA IS MARRIED TO RYAN TOMLINSON."
Then a picture of Jordan's wife and kids, again, from facebook.
"JORDAN IS MARRIED TO MICHELLE LAWLER, BACK IN PHILIDELPHIA."
Then back to the live feed of the two of them, yelling, all upset and Jordan looking around franticly, shouting something.
"NEITHER OF THEIR SPOUSES KNOW THAT DEANNA AND JORDAN ARE HERE, AS THEY HAVE BEEN EVERY WEDNESDAY FOR WEEKS."
It cut back to the picture of the two of them making out.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY ARE DOING HERE?"
Then it cut to a very carefully cropped image of Jordan and Deanna, taken from the video I had of them. It was very carefully composed – it showed Deanna and Jordan's faces – she was obviously in mid-orgasm, but it was very carefully composed so while it was obvious they were naked, nothing titillating was shown.
"DEANNA AND JORDAN ARE CHEATERS. WE JUST THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW."
And then we returned control of the jumbotron to the people at Wrigley Field, who were no doubt running around like chickens with their heads cut off. We left the image on the jumbotron on the live feed from camera #5. Jordan had taken off and Deanna was sitting alone, slumped down, in tears.
Jordan and Deanna would be served as soon as they exited the field – we had process servers waiting at both their cars. Jordan was served with an Alienation of Affection writ, and Deanna was served with both a restraining order – sworn out that morning, as Sarah Gold had promised - and divorce papers.
Originally I had wanted to serve them right there and then, in the field and have the last words on the Jumbotron be "YOU'VE BEEN SERVED!", but that would have made too much of a direct connection to me. As it was, I was the obvious culprit here, but Solomon had assured me that he had enough cut outs that they'd never trace the intercept and hack back to him – he was routed through seven other computers before he went near them. Plus, I'd never talked to the cameramen, only Simon had. They give them my picture, they could truthfully say they'd never seen me before.
So I had to settle for this. It was done. I'd already spent the day closing accounts and shutting down credit cards – the only one I'd left running was our main account, because Deanna lived on the debit card we had for that. Closing that would have alerted her, so I just took my name off the account instead.
So that was it. I reached out and turned off my iPhone, then nodded at both of my co-conspirators, and headed out saying, "Gotta finish fixing the locks."
I got home in about twenty minutes and when I got here, Melissa was hostile.
"What the hell did you do? Deanna was on my cell, crying and yelling and incoherent. Did you do something at a ball game or something?"
I sighed, grabbed a diet coke from the fridge and said, "Melissa, here's the deal. Deanna has been cheating on me for weeks. I found out. She's been served and she has a restraining order on her until we can work out visitation. She's not coming in here – I've already loaded her clothes and toiletries into suitcases in the garage. Now you understand what I said about a new room mate, because she sure as shit isn't staying here."
Melissa was just beside herself with anger. And ... strangely, I think there was something else in there too. Understanding.
She muttered, "Why can't anyone just keep it in their pants?" and then she just nodded at me and said, "I'll take care of her. You will need to talk to her."
"I know. Just not now. I'm still too angry at her. Just, when she gets here, give her the clothes and explain she cannot come in – if she tries to, well, I've already changed most of the locks, I just have to finish the garage entry, and besides, one call to 911 and she's in lockup for the night. She doesn't want that. She's had enough today already. The terms of the divorce are spelled out in her document package and I'm being generous, so she should just take them."
Melissa sighed and did something so out of character – she hugged me. I couldn't believe it.
"It sucks, doesn't it?"
I just looked at her and nodded.
"Tony," – Tony was her millionaire husband, "cheated constantly. No one knows. I stuck it out because, well, I loved him and of course, the money. But it fucking sucks, what it does to your ego and how you treat everyone else. I'm so sorry Ryan. That my dumb ass sister could do this. I just don't get it, though. She loves you, she adores her life here with the kids. She keeps telling me. What the fuck?"
"I don't know either, Melissa. Perhaps she'll tell me when she's ready. Because I have no fucking clue."
And then, for the next hour, we just sat and talked, Melissa and I. In a way we never had before. I learned she didn't trust any man because of what Tony had done. I don't think she liked me any more at the end of it, but at least we understood each other, and what more can you ask?
And the Deanna arrived and all hell broke loose. She tried the front door and found her key didn't work, and then she came around to the front windows and started hammering on them, screaming my name.
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