This is not a stand alone story. In order for it to make sense you have to read Dilemma. It ends at exactly the same place that Dilemma ends. If you don’t like unresolved stories you might want to pass on this one. It contains no sex.
Because I glanced at the clock, I know that I’d lived 12,656,620 minutes when it happened. Don’t you think it should take more than 27 minutes to destroy everything it had taken that long to create?
It has never seemed right, or even possible that so much damage could have happened in so little time, or that there was absolutely nothing positive about those fleeting moments. In less time than it takes to watch the silliest sitcom, I changed the lives of people I’ll never know--so many lives.
Twenty-seven minutes is how long it took Professor Jacob Ethan Riley King to f•©k me, and ruin my world.
To understand how it happened you have to understand who I am and to understand that, you have to understand Chris, my ex-husband. Out parents were best friend before we were born, and we spent more time together than most twins.
In fact, we spent so much time together we developed a special sensitivity for each other. I think it was the same thing that some twins are supposed to have. I had no secrets from Chris and he had none from me.
We generally knew what the other person was thinking, and frequently could finish each other’s sentences. We were so close that like many twins we don’t have the same sense of “body space” that normal people do. Teachers were always correcting us about standing too close to them. I think that’s one of the reasons that Professor King decided to f•©k me.
It certainly wasn’t because I was some sort of great beauty. I’ve got an okay figure, if you like lean athletic women. My face would have been nice, but I had fair sized congenital melanocytic naevus on my right cheek. CMN is better known as a brown birthmark. Most people with these sorts of birthmarks, are the butt of vicious jokes by other kids. I never was because Chris was always there to make sure it didn’t happen.
I don’t remember the first time Chris got into a fight because someone was making fun of me, but I do remember the last time. We were freshmen in high school and it almost got Chris killed.
The biggest jock, and I don’t just mean the most gifted, in our school was a senior. He wasn’t “dumb as a rock” because that would demean the rock. What he was, was the biggest, fastest, meanest linebacker in Texas. I’m not exaggerating at all. He’s played in several NFL pro bowls and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have someone on his staff to read his clippings to him ... of course he graduated from OU, so what can you expect.
Chris and I were both athletes, and the first time I met ... I’ll call him “Rock” I was working out in the weight room. Rock came in after football practice and he started right in about my deformity. I’ve been known to have a tart tongue, and I was cutting him to ribbons, but he was too dumb to know it.
About that time Chris showed up and the fight was on. You have to understand that Chris is a runner and a soccer player. He’s strong and fast but he’s lean. Rock was built ... well like an NFL middle linebacker, and just as fast as Chris, or perhaps a shade faster.
He beat Chris to a bloody pulp, but he never bothered me again, because Chris scared him. There is no quit in Chris, and even Rock was smart enough to know that you could kill him but you couldn’t beat him.
That’s the way Chris was. UT won two national championships when Chris was on their club team because he just wouldn’t quit. If I tell you about the last one, I think you might understand.
It went to four overtimes and the only man on the field still running off the ball was Chris. He scored the winning goal with less than a minute left before they went to shoot-outs, although you’d never hear that from him.
Chris is modest, and I think that’s what made him popular. Yes, he was a jock, but he never acted that way, and people loved him for it. He gave me the confidence to run for class president in high school and because he had so many friends in so many different cliques, I won.
If you haven’t got the picture yet, in my never humble opinion, there might be a better man, someplace, but I’ll be hard to convince. So, why if I loved the best man in the world why did I emasculate him with my 27-minute f•©k fest?
That’s a little hard to explain...
Let me start by saying I accept the blame for what I did. I might have been worked over by the best, but no one put a gun to my head and forced me into his room. I walked under my own power, and I should have-- could have-- walked out when I knew what was happening.
That’s what I’ll never forgive myself for letting him f•©k me. When I spread my legs for him, I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway.
Yes, Professor King set me up, he spent the time to learn my weakness, and he played me. When I took his summer class, he asked me to stay after class the day it started. He said he wanted to talk about the settlement I received when my father was killed in an airline crash.
Before the end of that course, I’d told him what I’d only shared with Chris. The last words I’d ever said to Daddy where an angry, hurtful accusations because he was going to miss one of my soccer games. I was in second grade and I was mad because I expected him to watch me perform.
Daddy changed his reservation to get home early. When we heard about the crash we didn’t know Daddy was on the plane. We didn’t know until a damn TV reporter rang our door with camera running to ask us how we felt.
As soon as he’d heard my story, Professor King began acting like a father to me. I loved it. Dad, Chris’ dad had been wonderful to me growing up, but I always knew, down deep, that he was Chris’ dad and not mine.
The week before that damn OU game, Professor King invited us to his house out by the lake. That’s when he started talking about how his own daughter had chosen to stay with his “cheating wife” and how little contact he had with her.
It should have raised all sorts of flags, instead I felt so sorry for him. I was so excited when he “discovered” that Chris couldn’t leave early because of a class, and offered to take me to Dallas on Friday morning.
If I’d had any of my normal defenses up, I think his charm still would have broken them down on the 3 1/2 hour trip. King had all the charm and persuasiveness you’d expect from a lawyer who’d won a fortune in a huge class action settlement.
When we got to the hotel it was even swankier than I expected. It was a different world, and I felt so sophisticated as we shared a couple of drinks in the bar. I didn’t think twice about it when he invited me to his room because he didn’t want to be seen “over socializing” with one of his students.
I’m not making excusing, but explaining that I was a little tipsy when he started pouring his heart out about the pain his daughter caused by choosing to live with her mother. He got me talking about Daddy and I didn’t think anything about being swept up in his arms to be “comforted.”
So there we were. Both of us had tears rolling down our cheeks, but I damn well know now his weren’t real. I was in so much pain I didn’t react when he kissed me.
Sex never entered my mind with that first kiss, just the need to comfort him, and to be comforted. But it wasn’t a comforting kiss, it was full of passion, and I responded to it. Oh God, if I’d only had the sense to stop there. Still, if that was all that had happened...
But it wasn’t. I may have been a bit fuzzy, but when I felt his hand in my pants, I knew I had to stop him. I also knew I could stop him. I wanted to stop him, but I didn’t.
No, I wasn’t drunk. No, I didn’t want to have sex with him. No, he didn’t force me. I did decide that for some reason I’ve never been able to figure out that I shouldn’t stop him, and I didn’t.
I’d worn a skirt, and he never even took down my panties. He just shoved them aside and he ignored how dry I was as he started to f•©k me. As he entered me, I saw the clock, 5:43.
As he f•©ked me, I f•©ked him back. No, it wasn’t passion. I just wanted to have this nightmare end, to be over. I remember chanting mentally, “Just get through this, just get through this.” At exactly 6:10 he pulled out of me and shot his load on my panties.
As he stood he said, “I didn’t want to cum inside you. I don’t think Chris would appreciate sloppy seconds.”
I didn’t say anything, I just adjusted my breasts back into my bra, and left.
When I got back to my room I flushed my panties down the toilet and I took as hot a shower as I could stand. I knew what I’d done. I was a dirty cheating slut and I’d betrayed the only man I’d ever love.
I’d done it with my eyes wide open and I had no excuse. I thought about it and I wondered what I should do. How should I tell Chris?
Then I made my second huge mistake. I decided that we needed to leave immediately, to get him back in Austin before I confessed. I was afraid that when Chris learned what I’d done, he’d kill King.
Don’t we always make our worst decisions for the best of reasons? As I stood in the room that was supposed to be a special treat for us, I saw a little note that claimed the sheets on our bed were 1000 count. I started to cry, I’d always wanted to make love on luxurious sheets, and I’d lost that chance by getting f•©ked on an institutional sofa.
I felt a longing for my husband that I’d never felt, and I knew that I’d never have him again. I was a slut, and a cheater and Chris deserved better. I remember a phrase from a class I’d taken on family law, “once a cheater, always a cheater.” I loved Chris too much to let him be saddled with someone like me.
Okay, I think you get the message, I was a total emotional mess. That’s as close as I’ll come to trying to make an exc ... to explain my inexcusable behavior when Chris arrived.
I knew that he knew, but when I saw him I understood that he hadn’t assimilated his knowledge. Because he thought my cheating was so foreign, he hadn’t accepted it yet. He was confused, and I tried to use that to divert him from King.
If I’m going to be entirely honest, I think, deep down, I hoped I’d be able to have him just once more before I lost him. Stupid huh? The whole sham held together for less than fifteen minutes.
I saw him at the front desk as he came in, and I ducked into the ballroom to hide from him. I thought he go up to our room first and that would give me a few minutes to collect myself.
I’d no sooner sat down at an empty table than King sat across from me and began telling me about how meaningful our new relationship was, how special and how necessary it was to keep it quiet. The son of a bitch was still trying to set me up!
Furious, I was about to tell him how the cow ate the cabbage when I felt Chris’ hand on my shoulder. I almost jumped through the roof and I was desperate to get him away from King. I intended to ask him to join me in our room to help me pack. What came out was some drivel about our sheets being 1000 count.
I saw his expression and I was about to blurt out what I’d done when King asked me to dance. I gritted my jaw. The only thing I wanted to do with him was castrate that son of a bitch.
I’ll no more understand why I agreed to dance with him than I’ll understand why I let him f•©k me.
Once we were on the dance floor, he resumed his line about the need to keep our “affair” quiet. He told me I needed to calm down if I didn’t want to make Chris suspicious.
It made me sick. Oh I didn’t spew, but the idea that I let this bastard hang horns on my Chris turned my stomach.
I smiled at him, I gave him my most seductive smile and in the sweetest voice I could muster I said,
“In today’s society I’m not allowed to cut your balls off, but I’m going to ruin you. I’ll have your job, your money, your law license and anything else you put any value upon. “You’ve cost me Chris, and you don’t have any clue at just how high the price tag for that will be.”
I spat in his face and I left him standing there.
As I walked back to the table, I saw Chris’ back as he left the room. I thought he was going to our room and I decided that I needed a few minutes to clam down before I faced him.
That’s when it happened. It’s called a fugue state.
Let me explain. I don’t want you to think that what Chris and I shared was some sort of weird science fiction mind reading. Mostly, I think our ability to read each other’s body language with unerring accuracy. We knew each other so well we were just never wrong.
The only thing at all weird was that I was always aware of Chris. You hear stories about how some wives or twins know when the other is in trouble, but can’t explain it. Well I can’t explain it either.
What happened a few minutes after I saw Chris leave is that I became aware that I didn’t sense him! He was gone, I knew he wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t there.
I’ve learned through my therapy-- about the only thing useful from my therapy-- that Chris probably went into what is called a fugue state. It similar to dissociative amnesia, and it sort of means that the body continues to act on auto pilot but the mind has taken a vacation to a dark place.
I was now worried sick. I called and his cell went to voice mail. I left a message asking where he was and if he was okay.
I can’t tell you how scared I was. I was trembling, and I was disoriented, but I somehow managed to make it to our room. I collapsed on my bed, a bed I knew I’d never share with my husband.
It was about an hour or so before I mustered enough pride and anger to put an end to my pity party. King was going to pay! I’d told him what I was going to do, now I needed to figure out how I was going to do it. I knew that with the way the schools responded to threats of sexual harassment suits, I could get him fired. I also knew that I wouldn’t do that.
I’m a lawyer, I know what the law allows, but I also know what’s right and wrong. King seduced me, he never offered me grades or favors or issued any threats. But I also knew that because he was the type of slime ball he was, that I wouldn’t be the only one. I’d been seduced, but I was sure I’d be able to find some of his students who had been harassed. I would have that bastard’s job, just like I’d promised him earlier.
I wanted to tell Chris that I’d get vengeance when I realized that I still couldn’t sense him.
I’m pretty good with words, but I don’t have the vocabulary to tell you how that scared me. I decided that Chris was probably on his way back to Austin. Again, I’m not sure how I knew he “wasn’t all there,” but I did.
I called again, and again I got voice mail. I hoped he might listen to my message and I decided to use “that voice” the one all spouses know, it’s the voice that announces that this topic isn’t open for discussion. I hoped to snap him out of what ever he was in, and I wanted to tell him that I would get King fired for what he’d done to Chris.
I’m not sure how I spent the next two hours. Perhaps I entered my own little fugue state. Then suddenly, I felt a new bolt of fear shoot through me. I was terrified for Chris. I had an image of Chris with a gun in his hand and grabbed my cell phone and again went to voice mail.
I tried not to let my fear show in my voice, but I couldn’t help it. I was sobbing and begging Chris. I was trying to make him understand that what I’d done, what I was, didn’t change who he was. Finally, I said something important, although I didn’t realize it for several years. I said “we would get past this.” The important word there is “we.”
Less than two minutes later Chris was back. I knew he wasn’t okay, but for the first time in over three hours I could sense him again. I wish I hadn’t.
“I could feel his pain.” I know that phrase was hackneyed and overused when I was still a kid, but in this case it was true. I had an image of King on top of me, inside me and I lost it. His room was only a few doors down from mine and I flew out into the hall and I began pounding on his door. I wanted to kill him.
I know that Chris felt the same way, he’d already driven his hunting knife all the way through King’s front door.
All I could think about as I pounded on that door was that if Chris killed that piece of shit he’d go to prison. Even Texas no longer allowed a man to get away with murder ... even justified murder. I couldn’t let that happen, if someone was going to prison it was going to be me, it was less than what I deserved.
And Chris was gone again! I left with him.
I’m not sure where he went, but I ended up in a mental hospital. It was two days before I “came to.” I called Momma and told her to come get me. I wasn’t insane, but I wasn’t a whole person either.
I understood what I’d done to Chris and I hated myself for it. Because we were “connected,” it was far worse for him, he knew that there was no excuse. I’d broken him and I’d made him something he could never have envisioned. I made him a cuckold. For years, just thinking about what I’d made Chris was enough to send my blood pressure through the roof.
I’m not going to bore you with the sad saga of my life after Chris left. I will say that it almost killed Momma. Chris was a son to her and she begged me to try to find some way to try to get past what I’d done.
She never understood that even if somehow Chris could forgive me, if somehow he wanted me to stay with him, all that would do, would be to lower my respect for him.