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Long After The GameChapter 5 free porn video
" ... and then the guy just left, you know?" I went to take another sip of my beer and realized the glass was empty. I looked at it a second time, suspiciously, since I had no memory of finishing it. With these friends, you never knew if you did actually finish it, or someone else 'helped' you.
I looked at Simon and Polly, who was still nursing a glass of white wine that must, by now, be room temperature. I was sitting on their couch. I'd called Simon, needing to talk about this latest event, and he'd said to come over. He'd, and I quote, 'Call the Scooby Gang so we could unmask that troublesome ghost". Sometimes his metaphors don't quite work.
Anyway, I'd been sitting there, after arriving and being handed a beer and told to sit and spill out what happened. I'd made noises about waiting for the guys to arrive and been told to sit down, drink the beer and spill, since they'd rather hear it twice. Then they could give me their 'considered' opinion. Terrific.
The doorbell rang. Simon got up to answer it, and I waved the empty glass at him, hopefully.
I looked at Polly, who was now dipping her finger in the wine and rubbing it around the top of the wineglass, like people do when they are trying to make it ring. She obviously wasn't good at it, because I couldn't hear a damn thing.
She was nodding, like she understood something and suddenly said, "Hmmm..."
Most enlightening.
The room bustled as Simon, Jonathan and Solomon entered the room.
"I was called. I am here," Jonathan pronounced. He watched too many Richard Curtis movies. "I picked up Solomon on the way." He explained as I glanced at Solomon.
He nodded and sat down in the love sofa on the other side of the coffee table. We were sitting in the front room of Simon's house – it has no TV, just a fireplace and three couches, all facing each other, in a U shape, next to the fire.
"'tsup homie," said Solomon, flipping his head at me.
"Homie is goooood," I replied, doing my best to do a surfer imitation.
Solomon got a pained expression on his face. "No dude. Just ... no. Don't do that."
Simon looked around as Jonathan seated himself as well. He noticed the empty glass and said, "I'll get them in, then," and strolled off, with intent.
Solomon noticed what Polly was doing with the wine glass.
"Hey Polly. Hey, you know why wine glasses have stems? So you can hold the glass by the stem and not change the temperature of the wine with the heat from your hands. How's it going?"
Polly stopped the rotation of her finger and stared at Solomon, and after a second, replied coolly, "Hello Solomon, Jonathan".
Polly honestly didn't know how to take Solomon. Jonathan was a known quantity, but Solomon – he went off on tangents she couldn't follow. He was an unknown in her life, and she worried about that.
Simon reappeared with beers in bottles. No glasses for the riff raff.
We all took a long deep draft, almost in unison. We almost made the same sighing noise at the end of it. It was awkward.
"So ... what's occurring? What's the event man? You finally dip your wick then?" asked Solomon, tactful diplomat that he is.
"Ok, well, to bring you up to date..."
I explained the events of the day. Again. Simon and Polly just sat and listened, for a second time. I thought it weird that no one asked any questions. I'm obviously a gifted storyteller, I thought.
At the end a second, time, I was dry AGAIN. And this time I just held out the glass and said, "More beer, Kemosabe".
More was forthcoming, and once Simon was sitting again, I looked at everyone and, everyone suddenly spoke at once.
"So this dude..." started Solomon, while Simon dropped in with, "What do you think..."
Jonathan opened with, "Well, I imagine..." and Polly jumped in with, "This is bullshit."
It was Polly's statement that stopped everyone else; they just stopped talking and stared at her.
"Well, it is," she said, somewhat defensively.
"I agree," I said, agreeing. Obviously.
Everyone switched their attention back to me.
There was silence for a second, then Simon, hesitantly, said, "You think she's ... again?"
There was another very pregnant silence as I looked down at my beer.
"Honestly, I have no idea what to think. I just ... well, there's something going on here, obviously. Or she's got one hell of a stalker. I just ... I don't see it in her eyes, you know?"
"You didn't last time," hazarded Jonathan, carefully.
I didn't take offence. "True," I said, "But I wasn't looking. Now I am. You HAVE to believe I am. Constantly. I just don't see it in her. There are no secrets. Nothing held back, no hesitations or evasions. I have no fucking clue. This guy could be a stalker for all I know."
"How do you feel about it?" asked Solomon cagily, leaning back and sipping his beer slowly.
"Well, as you can imagine, I'm not thrilled," I started.
"No, I mean, about everything. I mean, you've fucked, right?" Faces were made at him and he observed and said, "Sorry, 'Made Love'", using his fingers to make quotation marks.
"Well ... not that it's any of your business, but yes. That was what Vegas was all about."
"The dress was certainly awesome," Solomon dropped into the conversation.
"Yes ... wait, what? How do you know... ?" I was confused. I hadn't told anyone about the dress, or shown them the one picture I took.
"Dude," scoffed Solomon, "your email password is a joke, you know that? That pic? Pretty awesome though. I mean, that's hoooooot."
My eye's bugged out and my eyebrows shot up.
"You did fucking WHAT? You hacked my email?"
"It's what I do, Ryan. You should know that by now," said Solomon, nonchalantly taking a swig of a beer.
I stood up, incensed. "You fucking..." My finger was shaking at him and I couldn't even think of what to say next.
Jonathan stood up and gently put a hand on my shoulder. "Ryan, get a grip. He's an asshole, but you knew that. And that dress was pretty awesome."
I turned and looked at Jonathan, and stared at him. "You've seen it too?"
Simon said, "He sent it to all of us. Sorry man." At least he had the decency to look away. I sat down, shakily.
"I have no idea what got into her, man. Although I can guess, by the end of the evening. Was it any good?" asked Solomon, genuinely interested, and totally oblivious to how pissed off I was.
"A gentlemen never tells," I tried to say haughtily, failing miserably.
"Are there any gentlemen in here? I don't know I've ever met one?" inquired Polly, sarcastically, looking around at the men present.
"Thank you," I replied sarcastically. "It was good. Interesting. I got ... included, in her new ... desires."
"Oooh, public sex? Do tell!" exclaimed Simon, before being elbowed in the ribs by Polly.
"Seriously though dude, what do think about all this? I mean, if she's shtupping this guy, do you care? Is there a new relationship here? Rekindling the marriage? What are we looking at here? Closing the book, righteous vengeance, what?"
It was the sixty four thousand dollar question, and one I'd been asking myself the entire drive up to Simon's house.
"I have ... no idea. That's the thing. The last few weeks have been great. We've reconnected, been a family, been intimate, but I can't ... I don't ... I dunno what I feel right now. So many feelings swirling around. Being with her is easy, you know? It's like a comfortable coat. I know it, it knows me, it fits, it protects me from rain ... I dunno."
There was another silence.
"So, what's the next step?" asked Jonathan.
"More information I guess. Again..."
Jonathan snorted – something I didn't know he was capable of. "We should start out own private detective agency. This little group does so much of this."
"How you gonna do it?" asked Simon.
"I have an idea..."
I was sitting in the corner, nursing my Apple Spice Cider at Starbucks. A Trenta size. I've got no idea why Starbucks insists on using stupid Italian words to describe their cup sizes, instead of the simple small, medium or large. I suspect it's something to do with Seattle and Hipsters. And yet again I was going off on a mental tangent when I had something important to do or think about.
I refocused my efforts and scanned the room, looking for my prey. I didn't know what she looked like, but I knew she'd be looking around for me. Well, not me exactly. I had shown a little ... creativity, with the truth. Yeah, I lied a bit. So sue me.
I knew she was an older lady, and she said she'd be in the plush seats in the middle of the Starbucks. And if she was on time, she should be here now.
So I pushed up off the seat and went wandering. And I saw her. It was definitely her. Sitting, coffee in hand, looking around interestedly at the surrounding people, eyes spending a lot of time on the 30 something women in the place.
She'd even kept the other chair clear, which was nice of her. So I dropped into it, trying not to spill what remained of my apple cider.
She looked at me and shook her head, and said with a frown, "I hope you don't mind awfully, but I'm expecting a friend and I was saving that seat for her."
"Yeah, she's not going to show I'm afraid Mae. I'm sorry to have brought you here under false pretenses, but I didn't know how else to do it. I'm Ryan by the way. I'm sure you know who I am."
She blinked, too a sip and then said, carefully, "I see."
"I doubt you do Mae, but I'm here to talk to you. Just you, not the entire crowd. It took me a while going through Craigslist ads to find your little group. Thankfully Deanna has been very open about you guys, and your little support group, so I knew what to look for."
She said, "I see," again, then smiled self-consciously.
"I'm not here to rant or rave and I have no issues with you guys. I think you probably provide a necessary service. I just need to talk to you. And just you, that's why I asked it to be only you. I was being honest when I said I wasn't ready to meet the whole gang. I really didn't know how else to do it."
Mae sat back and looked at me over her bifocals. "Ok, well, you could have just asked. I have to say I don't like your methods very much, but we are here now. What do you want to talk about? How can I help, Ryan?"
She was appraising me, I could see it. You don't get to have been a good salesman like I used to be without seeing that look a lot. It was ok, I had nothing to hide. I hoped.
"Well, I just need to know some stuff. Look, Deanna has been very forthcoming and open about you guys and what you've been doing for her. She's been very honest."
And then a beat later, I couldn't help adding, "Now."
"I'm aware of all the planning and the stuff you guys cooked up for me. Thanks for Vegas by the way, that was pretty awesome. Unexpected, but awesome. I think we both needed that."
I was pleased to see a little blush on Mae and that very slight naughty schoolgirl smile. It was a little strange seeing it on someone like Mae, of advancing years, but then, I reflected, she was part of this group too. She'd done someone bad at some point, so she was probably no stranger to lustful sex.
"But while I'm grateful for all you've done for Deanna, the support and so on, there are some questions I have that Deanna cannot answer, because she wouldn't understand why I am asking."
At that, Mae's little private smile went away, and was replaced with a guarded look. Which meant she had something to guard against. She knew something and she didn't want to tell me. Which, in turn, meant there was something to know.
I sighed internally. Whatever it was that Mae thought she knew, I needed to know, and I needed to figure out a way to get her to tell me. I had a mental coin flip – some bullshit cooked up on the spur of the moment, or the truth?
What the hell. The truth. The coin was doubled sided anyway.
"Look Mae, here's the thing. Some guy came to see me the other day. And he had a lot to say about Deanna..." Her guarded look went up a notch. Paydirt.
"I don't know where Deanna and I stand, to be totally honest. I'm being honest with you here, because it seems to me that Deanna probably has been, and I think I should give you the same courtesy. The fact is, I've not committed to this new relationship totally, and I don't know why. But I think you do. I need you to help me understand whatever it is that is bothering me. I need your help to work out what to do, Mae. Will you help me, please?"
Mae sat there, staring at me. God knows what mental turmoil was going on in her head. And then, hesitantly, she started to speak.
I sat down with a glass of Jameson – the gold reserve; the very good stuff – and wondered what I was supposed to do next.
I'd gotten home about an hour earlier, to Paula's consternation ("Where have you been? What are we supposed to be doing out for dinner? Don't you care about us at all??" was the greeting I got, with her voice screeching up on the last two words.)
Eventually I got her to calm down with the promise of pizza – there seemed to be a lot of that going on recently, I'd have to watch that. Oh, who am I kidding? – and we'd eaten, and for some reason, I'd lit an actual fire in the fire place. The house I'd bought had a fireplace and Jamie was turning into a firebug. He and Saffron wanted to know how to build them so they'd lite easily, and what went into them. He even volunteered to clean it out the next morning, which is good, because I hated doing that. He was both a water bug and a firebug. It was very confusing.
I was a little unsure of his motivation, but I'll take the cleaning, thanks.
So I sat and stared into the flames and wondered what to do, what the best course of action was.
And since I hadn't put the kids to bed, and because I actually needed some solitude to think, the little bastards wouldn't give it to me.
They were running around and then there was a scream, and some half hearted crying, and I waited to hear what Paula would do, and then realized she was in her room with headphones on – smart girl – and then I'd had two children run in and shout "Daddy, Daddy!" both at the top of their voices, and both then tried to explain to me how nasty the other was being, and all over the top of each other, forcing each to raise their voices and ... it was too much.
"Stop!" I yelled, forcefully. Too forcefully, truth be told. Just because I was lost didn't mean I could stop being Daddy, or be mean.
"Sorry kids," I said to the two shivering, wide-eyed children before me. "Look, I can't hear with both of you going on at once. What happened?"
Jamie immediately went into a prolonged rant about Saffron, how she was mean and never nice and never let him play with her toys and on and on. He said nothing specific, which in my experience means he's guilty as sin, but he can't admit that, so he has to have something to complain about his sister to balance out her legitimate complaints about him.
When he ran down, Saffron said, simply, "He pushed me down, Daddy. It hurt. I got a booboo on my leg. And he wouldn't say sorry, so I can't forgive him."
She turned to Jamie and said, "Those are the rules. You have to say sorry, so I can forgive you. That's how it works. Then we can play."
Jamie said, sulkily, "sorry", in a low voice and suddenly I knew everything. I knew what had been going on over the past few months, why, what it meant, what my behavior was about, and what that meant. I knew exactly what I had to do, and why.
Literally everything was settled in my head in an instant. I'd never had that happen before, but it had happened. I knew what had to happen next, and how I could move forward, with Deanna and with my life in general.
Now I just had to do it.
" ... Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dear Treeeeyyyy, happy birthday to you!"
Deanna smiled as the singing trailed away, and the wait staff dispersed to other duties. They were sitting in Morton's steakhouse, in Rosemont, and had just finished a great steak together.
The wait staff had brought out a little cup cake with a candle in it and sung to Trey, sitting opposite her, to his obvious embarrassment and consternation. He smiled, in that false way that people do when they just want the ground to open up and swallow them, but have look like they are thankful for what is being done to them.
He sighed as the wait staff vanished and said to Deanna, "Seriously? I'm not thirteen you know."
"I know," she said, in that mommy way some women have when they are talking down to people. "But you have to have the full experience."
"Well, thanks. Can we get out of here now?"
"No! Not until you've eaten your cupcake! Plus, I have a little something for you..."
"Deanna!" Trey exclaimed, exasperatedly.
"Here. Shut up and be grateful." She fished a small, brightly wrapped package out of her bag and passed it over. "Go on. Open it."
Hesitantly, Trey started to open it, pausing only to protest again, and then stop when he saw Deanna's arched eye.
When the package was open, it turned out to be a 42mm stainless steel Apple Watch, with steel mesh band.
"Holy crap!" exclaimed Trey. "These things are like seven hundred bucks! What the hell Deanna?"
Deanna just smiled indulgently at him, and said, "The advice you've given me? Worth it. And just the company. It's been ... really great hanging with you. Just wanted to give you a token of appreciation. I noticed you have an iPhone but that crappy watch, so I thought, why not?"
Impulsively, she pushed her chair about, got up, walked around the table and gave him a kiss. A small one, on the lips, and stopped, and just looked into his eyes.
"Thank you Trey, and happy birthday."
It was two weeks later. A Wednesday. It was a bright sunny day, for once. I remember it distinctly. I remember wondering in the morning if I should have brought an umbrella, because when I left in the morning, it was cloudy and slightly threatening. But by midday, it had entirely cleared up.
I don't know why I'm mentioning the weather. Such a stupid thing to be thinking about.
I hadn't seen that much of Deanna – a few dinners, once on a Saturday where we'd all played Frisbee Golf. She said she'd been working.
Anyway, Deanna poked her head around my office door at 1pm and said, "Come on, we have to go!"
I was all "WTF, woman?" – mentally, I could never get away with saying that in real life – and looked at her all puzzled and she said, "You're the boss, in case you hadn't noticed. Oh and you haven't hired an intern to take my place. You know you need one. Do I need to find one for you?"
I recovered my voice and said, "I know I'm the boss. Why am I leaving, exactly?"
"You have an afternoon appointment. With me. Come on, get your stuff. We don't have that long."
"Um, where?"
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"You'll like this one. C'mon. Be the boss. Take the afternoon off. Live a little."
The last time she'd said that, we'd ended up in Las Vegas – I still got a little thrill out of the wanton memory – so yeah, what the hell. I only had an afternoon of arguing with a couple of contractors to look forward to anyway.
I stopped in with the guys and explained I was taking off early, and the nodded and then I, to all intents and purposes, ceased to exist for them. I've never met people who can be in the zone more than Deke and Kevin.
And we went outside, and I found Deanna standing by a white Tesla S series! I couldn't quite believe it.
"This is NEVER yours?" I asked, admiring it.
"No," she grinned, "belongs to my boss. I had to talk her into letting me borrow it. I have to have it back by eight. Come on, get in."
I was guided around the side and she opened the back door, and I looked at her, quizzically.
"Come on, my lord, your chariot awaits! And no, you aren't driving it. I had a hard enough time getting permission for me to drive it. If you had any idea what it took to get her to agree ... well, lets just say my wardrobe is going to look good on another women for a while."
I got in, wondering what the ride would be like. I've always wanted to drive one those things.
It was like a rocket on silk. I mean, this thing just took off ... Deanna always had a heavy right foot, but I could only assume her right foot had been replaced by Thors Hammer, at the speed this thing took off. Silently, too. And smooth. Oh so smooth.
The dashboard was like something you'd get on the Starship Enterprise. I kept expecting her to call down to Scotty, to ask for more power or to warned there were Romulans in the vicinity and to keep the shields up. It was awesome.
She kept up a chatter all the way. It was weird, sitting in the back while my wife acted as chauffer, in a car I desperately wanted to drive myself. But then my life is always disjointed that way.
We headed into the city on I-88, then onto 290, past the toll section. I kept trying to ask her where we were going and she put me off artfully. She kept giving me obvious hints, then when I thought I'd got it, shouting, "No! Guess again!" and giving me completely contradictory clues.
Eventually I noticed we downtown, and heading north, up Clark. Past the Bally's health club, where, when I was young, prior to meeting Deanna, I'd been working out downtown and some guy had exposed himself to me in the shower. He'd turned around, full mast, so to speak, and said, "What do you think of that then?" and I'd left. Immediately. I was still covered in soap, but I was clean. I would do. Anything to get out of that place, right then.
I started to get misgivings when we passed Belmont, and positive palpitations when we went past Roscoe. And there it was, on the corner of Addison and Clark. 1060, West Addison, an address made famous in the Blues Brothers. Because that's where Wrigley field was, home of the Chicago Cubs, named because they were supposed to be the baseball version of the Chicago Bears.
Where it had all started, when I'd been directed to watch a baseball game – the cross-town classic – that had my wife and her lover on the big screen, groping each other. This was not a place I wanted to be, nor memories I wanted to have.
Deanna glanced back at me and saw my face.
"Ryan," she said, in measured tones, "please. This is something I need to finish. I need to complete the tasks. This is the last one. Please, if you ever trusted me, if our years together meant something, please, let me do this one last thing. For my own sanity, and for yours. Please, go with me on this. I categorically state that you won't be harmed here, or insulted, or upset. Just ... please. Let me do this."
"Do what specifically, Deanna?"
"Just wait a little longer, and you'll see."
This was so not where I wanted to be. I had a suspicion of what she was up to, and this was not something I wanted. Not at all. But if it was what I thought it was, then I could see she would.
With a huge amount of control, and no small amount of internal mental wrestling, I decided to go with it. She had earned that amount of small trust, I knew.
"Ok. But here's my conditions. The moment I feel like I don't want to be there, I'm gone, ok?"
Deanna flashed a smile into the rearview mirror, as she turned into the official parking lot (Where, I noticed, it was a forty dollar parking fee. FORTY FUCKING DOLLARS. Jesus Christ, I should be staying the night with a hotel room thrown in for that cost! Or at the very least a free blowjob!) and said, "Thanks Honey. Trust me, it's going to be ok. You'll see."
So we parked, taking note of where we parked; this was a Tesla, and I wanted to be sure she'd get it back, and into the park we went. We had great seats, behind the infield on the home side. We got the obligatory beer and hotdog – you cannot go to a ball game in America (and particularly not Wrigley field) and not get a beer and a hotdog. It's against the law, in fact, so I understand. And went and sat down. I couldn't help but notice these seats were no where near where the dick shiner she'd had her affair with had his season tickets, thank god.
So the game went on, they were playing the Cleveland Indians, and it was a slow game. Hell, all baseball games are slow games. I always found them quite tedious. I'm aware that there is a lot of strategy involved in how it's played, but frankly, it's slow, boring and not a lot happens. It's one of the reasons why team sport games are just not my thing.
But it was sunny, there was beer, hotdogs, and I had a pretty woman with me, that I was sure would put out if I asked her to, even if I didn't ask. It was weird, being at the location where we had destroyed each other's lives, her with her cheating and me with exposing it so publicly. I'd actually never been to Wrigley field in years, so it was strange to be there after all that had happened there.
I was pretty sure that one of two things was going to happen. Either she was going to push me into another high-risk sex situation, or ... exactly what did happened at the bottom of the 5th inning.
While the teams changed sides, up came the inevitable ads and other little animations on the electronic billboards, and then ... came the message.
There was Deanna, in a pre-recorded message, sixty foot high on the electronic jumbotron. The real life Deanna grabbed my hand and held on tightly.
"Hi there," the sixty foot Deanna intoned, as the crowd quieted down. "Some of you may know my face. A couple of years ago, my husband caught me cheating with someone at one of these games. Someone hacked the display systems here, and put up my face and that of my accomplice. So the whole world knew what I'd done. And I'm here to apologize, on the big screen, where my life was shown to the world, to my husband. I disrespected you, and our family, and I was insane to have done so. I have no excuse, I can only ask you to forgive me. I am as repentant as I can be, and just wish I could put this behind me, but only you can do that, Ryan. You are the only man I've ever loved. Please, Forgive me."
There was a roar as the crowd surged up and started clapping. Some even stood up.
I was expecting there to be a camera on us, shown on the screen, but there wasn't, which was a wise move. Because if I'd said no, well, I'd have been ripped limb from limb by this crowd.
As it was, about thirty seconds, someone recognized Deanna, and by extension me, and people started turning round, and filming us with phone cameras.
Deanna looked at me and gave a brave little smile. She was so nervous, I could tell.
"Are you ... ok?" she asked. Or yelled, rather, since it was so loud.
I looked at her sympathetically, and nodded, then yelled back, "Can we go somewhere? Just talk, you and I?"
She smiled wider, and nodded, and up we got, dropping our garbage in a bin on the way out.
Since we left early, we got out of the parking lot easily, and traffic was somewhat light.
We ended up at a bar on Lincoln, called Irish Eyes. It had been an old hangout of Deanna's, years ago. She'd dated the bar keep there, but he was a major league asshole, cheating on her incessantly, and she'd kicked him to the curb. It was somewhat ironic for the conversation we were about to have.
So there we were, another beer in front of me, a diet coke for her, since she was driving.
And it was time, for the conversation we'd both been avoiding.
"So, um, yeah. Now you know why you had to trust me. It was ... something I had to do."
"I get it, Deanna, I honestly do. I have no idea how you persuaded them though. That GM guy at Wrigley field was pisssssed at me. How did you do it?"
She shrugged. "Well, a five thousand dollar donation to the 'cubs on the move' charity, for a start, plus I had to arrange for some of the models I use for the conventions to show up at a party they are throwing later this year. All standard stuff, really. Throw enough pretty girls at a problem and it usually gets solved."
"Jesus. Five grand? That's a lot."
"Well," she said, taking my hand in hers across the table, "I had to do it. I explained to you about how I had those tasks set, to make you at least want to try and trust me. There were the diaries, our family playing Frisbee golf together, there was me working for you, the trip to Vegas, and finally, this. I had to get at you on all fronts. The last one was about me humiliating myself in front of everyone. It had to be big to be sure you got the point, and well, it seemed fitting."
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