Pictures Never Lie: A Love Story Pt. 08-2

Then the thought struck me and I was appalled. I said, “MY GOD, I AM the world’s shallowest slut! Looking back now, I can see that by the middle of that week I had forgotten Tom entirely and was concentrating on reeling Murphy in just like I had every other new man after a breakup. I started to cry.”

Chelsea handed me her ubiquitous tissue box and said, “No you aren’t. That was just conditioned behavior taking over. It was the way you always reacted to betrayal and in some ways it shows how brave you are.

“You really truly believed your marriage was at an end. Most women would have taken to drink, or drugs, or killed themselves after a catastrophe like that. You just dusted yourself off and immediately went back into the fight. That isn’t a sign of shallowness. It is a sign of how tough and confident you are as a woman. And you should feel good about that.

“The fact that you didn’t immediately talk with Tom and clarify those pictures is a point against you. But I can understand that was a consequence of your past. If pictures don’t lie there was no reason to talk with him except to work out the details of the settlement.

“And you eventually got around to doing that. Unfortunately that was after you had progressed too far down the road with the fellow who actually put you there. But all of your actions to that point are perfectly understandable within your own personal and psychological history.

“The only question is, what do you intend to do now? “

I said, “I don’t know yet. I am here because I need you to help me. I want to start over again with my husband in a way that will absolutely guarantee that we will be together forever. So I have to get this right. Will you help me?”

Chelsea said, “Certainly dear, make another appointment and we can talk. But be sure you keep the short-term sexual connection to Tom because I am sure that this is going to be a brief therapy.

“You have gone right to the heart of your trouble in our first session. And I can tell by your ability to articulate it that you understand it.

“Now we just need to plan how you are going to explain all of this to Tom. You will have to be forthright, including telling him about your feelings of discontent with the predictability of your last few years together.

“That shouldn’t be a deal breaker because I bet that he has felt exactly the same way as you do.”

I wasn’t so sure of that since he seemed to like his routine

Then she thought a bit and added, “I know that you two love each other and I am certain that you can find plenty of future romance. You haven’t traveled much in the past and a lot of couples discover a fresh meaning in life simply visiting new places together. Maybe you can do that.”

It is hard to put a value on a strong intelligent friend like Chelsea Morningstar.

We met a couple more times over the next couple of weeks. One thing that DID come out of our discussion was the discovery that part of the problem seemed to be that Tom and I were following the wrong script.

Although we didn’t think we were different than any other married people our childless state put us in a small and slightly precarious category of couples.

That is, most people in their 40s are usually raising kids.

Our endless progression of perfectly pleasant days is an ideal state if there are children involved, since a husband and wife don’t need any more excitement than the trials and tribulations that offspring bring into your life. But if there are no kids all of that peace and quiet can get monotonous.

That revelation led me to my next conclusion, which was that from now on I would work very hard to ensure there was a little unplanned excitement in our life; to go along with the wonderful sense of contentment that we felt with each other.

And I was already planning the trips and the new and thrilling sexual experiences Tom and I were going to have.

July passed into August and it was coming up on the beginning of the new school year. I had a lot to do in my classroom, from lesson planning to stocking up the Guinea Pig supply. So we were all around the building at various times working on our rooms.

I have taught third grade long enough that some of my little charges are actually professional people now. Seeing one of your students following in your footsteps is one of the true rewards of being an educator. For instance Marcy Alexander, who passed through my classroom back in the Pleistocene, is now teaching kindergarten in the room next to me.

Marcy was a bouncy and energetic eight year old who had grown into an idealistic, apple cheeked romantic. She was living the story book. She graduated from her teacher’s college in June, married her long-time boyfriend in July and was about to embark on her teaching career with the same kind of enthusiasm that I semi-remembered from back when I was 23.

She is small and she is as shapely as a 14 year old boy. But she hangs on my every word, which is a little disturbing. I know that she is a great teacher though, because she did her student teaching with me.

I walked into her classroom as she was putting up a bulletin board that was slightly more ornate than the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I said, “Some of us old-hands are getting together after work. How would you like to join us?”

She looked hesitant. I knew that she didn’t drink. I said, “I don’t drink at those things either. We want to welcome you back to your old school. They have lemonade and soft drinks. So how are you doing? Can I help with anything?”

She said as lively as ever, “I’m doing fine and I would love to see all of you. It’s been a long time since I sat in your classroom.” Suddenly I felt older than dirt.

There was also something that I wanted to discuss with my best friend Rebecca. But I didn’t know how to bring it up.

Rebecca, “don’t call me Becky”, has been my sidekick since we started our careers on the same day twenty years ago. And all of that time she has been the fourth grade teacher to my third. If I had a sister, she would be her; I love her like one. And we think like one mind. That was the problem.

For the past two months Rebecca had been my only social outlet. Without Tom in my life I hung out with Bob and her at their house and we had frequent barbeques. Their two kids are 17 and 16 and they are constant reminders of what might have been with Tom and me, because they are very good kids.

The oldest takes after Bob, Rebecca’s husband, who teaches chemistry and physics at the high school. He is as shy and geeky as Bob. But he is clearly headed for MIT.

The youngest is the starting quarterback for our high school football team and already a lady’s man. I know that he is, because he has actually hit on ME in a teenage sort of way.

I would wonder who the real father was if I was not absolutely certain that Bob was the only man Rebecca had ever fucked and vice-versa.

That was until sometime in late June. Then Rebecca started acting strange and it seemed like the culprit was Lance Jones.

As a cockhound, Lance was a lot MORE obvious than Wile E. Coyote himself. I would not have had anything to do with that man-whore even back in my wild sluttier days. And I certainly didn’t want anything to do with him now. But the School Board assigned him to me as my colleague mentoree and I was stuck with him.

He hit on me relentlessly for the first couple of years and I had to threaten to bring him up on sexual harassment charges to get him to lay off.

Lance was good looking enough, 29 years old, well dressed, tall and fashionably muscular with a killer smile. And he had plenty of money thanks to his parents. What he didn’t have was a moral compass or a sense of values.

I found all of his jovial, “Come on honey, I know you really want it” vibes disgusting. But it was my duty to turn him into a professional educator and God knows I tried. Unfortunately however, Lance seemed to view our school as his personal game preserve.

Marcy had replaced Rose Winsock as the kindergarten teacher. Lover-boy ruined Rose’s marriage and life by fucking her into telling her husband that she was leaving him, which was a stupid move on her part since Lance disappeared out of her life as soon as she did that. People like Lance only want conquest, not the long-haul.

Anyhow, Lance started paying a lot of attention to Rebecca after he dropped Rose. He flirted mercilessly with her any time they were together and he was even over at her house sometimes when I visited.

Frankly I didn’t know why.

I have led a much different life than Rebecca and I wanted to warn her about Lance. But poor ordinary Rebecca seemed to be smitten. So I needed to find a way to broach the subject of his advances on her without actually finding out too much about the situation.

We all drove to a chain restaurant that we frequent. It is also a favorite of Tom’s and I had hoped to see him there. Even the sight of him cheers me up. But there was no such luck.

We live in a relatively small town and the restaurant is equidistant from everybody’s residence. I think that’s why we go there.

It was very comforting to spend time with the people who I see every day and respect. That was with one exception. But I DO hear that he is a very good teacher.

We talked about the kids and then somebody brought up the fact that I was separated from Tom.

Chelsea suggested that I be honest, since there was nothing to be ashamed of. And so I told them about how I had fallen off the wagon romance-wise with Mr. Murphy.

I saw that as an opportunity. I wanted to start to open the discussion with Rebecca about her own issues and I thought that if I made myself completely open and vulnerable to everybody, as I had, I might be able to broach the subject of Lance.

We might have talked longer but Marcy had to rush home to prepare dinner for her man. It was really cute and a little nostalgic. I never had an innocent period. But then again, back then I didn’t look like Marcy either.

We parted in the parking lot and I drove home to my empty house. It was Monday. When we talked on Wednesday I was planning on confronting Tom with a proposition that he move back in.

I was feeling a sense of impending resolution to our marriage difficulties and I was overjoyed. It is oddly ironic how you can remember the minutia of life just before disaster strikes.

I was working on my lesson plan in the den when the landline rang. It was 8:30 in the evening and I was settled in with a glass of Merlot, wearing a closed robe over a pair of panties. The first thing I heard was Lance’s irritating voice. Lance was not somebody I wanted to deal with at that hour .

I said, “Lance, why are you calling me at this time of night?!”

He said, “I’m sorry to call you so late Janet but I really need your help. I have to fill out the paperwork for the State assessment test for my kids and I don’t have the slightest idea where to start. Can I come over for a half hour and you can show me how to begin at least.”

I said with some annoyance, “The State assessments aren’t due until November Lance. What’s the emergency?”

He said with panic creeping into his voice, “I have to file the paperwork by noon tomorrow. There is a different schedule for 6th graders because we are passing them along to another school.”

He was right. I had forgotten about that.

I said, “Why did you wait until the last minute?” That was a silly question. It was Lance after all.

He said, “I just didn’t think of it until I saw you guys today. I know it’s late but you have to help me.” I got the “Board of Education demands it” undertones to what he was saying.

I knew I was trapped so I said with anger creeping into my voice. “I want to go to sleep no later than 10:30 so you had better get your ass over here.” Then I hung up on him.

He arrived fifteen minutes later. I barely had the time to throw on a warmup suit. He was dressed in the same outfit he had been wearing three hours earlier and carrying one of those little white boxes that pastries come in. He looked contrite.

I said, “Come on in Lance and let’s get this over with. We sat down at the kitchen table. I offered him something to drink. He asked for a beer and I made myself some herb tea. I like to drink a cup of chamomile tea to help me get to sleep.

He said, “I certainly appreciate this Janet. You are really the expert in our school and I desperately need your help. I won’t take up too much of your time. If you can just show me where to start I can take it from there and I brought along some cannelloni as a peace offering.”

He opened the box and there were two big, fat cannelloni sitting there. They were so yummy looking that I decided that helping Lance might not be so bad after all.

I got a couple of plates and he picked one out of the box and put it on mine. Then he did the same thing for his. I sipped my tea and munched on my cannelloni while I helped him fill out the paperwork.

I DID have to admit that if you hadn’t been doing that stuff for twenty years all of the red-tape would be confusing.

He filled out the first part of the form while I guided him. I was sitting across from him at the dining room table and watching him as he wrote.

It took about 15 minutes. And then suddenly I was beginning to feel really sick and woozy. It hit me so hard that I thought it was going to vomit right there on the spot. I said to him, “I think you had better leave right now Lance. I don’t feel well at all.”

I started to stand and walk him toward the door and my legs collapsed. He caught me and held me against him. I was beginning to feel like I was going to pass out.

I was terrified. Here I was with nobody but Lance to help me and I didn’t trust him at all. Plus I suddenly had an alarmingly irresistible desire to thoroughly and emphatically fuck anybody who I could lay my hands on.

I desperately mumbled something like “call 911”.

He said cheerfully, as he swung me into his arms and carried me in the direction of our first floor master bedroom, “No need to do that my dear. What you just ate was my own personal concoction of Rohypnol and Ecstasy in a tasty Ricotta filling. I see you enjoyed it and it IS harmless and undetectable once it’s passed out of your system.

Women think that date-rape drugs can only be delivered in drinks. So they fall for the food gambit every time. You won’t remember anything in the morning. But I can guarantee that you will totally love what’s going to happen to you TONIGHT.” Then he tossed me on the bed.

I could feel my top being unzipped and pulled off. I had the completely inappropriate thought that I wished I had worn a bra. Then I felt my bottoms and panties forcefully ripped off my legs. The enveloping fog closed in on me at that point and I couldn’t see anything. I thought I felt a cock slide into me. And the only thing I could hear were the ecstatic and utterly abandoned cries of a woman in an extreme sexual frenzy.

Leave a Comment