Slow Dancing with a Fast Woman

I didn't know she was divorced. I knew she was married, and that he didn't like her being away. When Cindy told me that I gave her a pointed look. She got the hint and shut up.

"What agreement, Jan?"

The way I said it made her pause. "Oh you know, the understanding you have."

I let the silence stretch and she got nervous. "I'm sorry, I wasn't being clear. I didn't mean an understanding, I meant your understanding. She's really lucky to have you. Gotta go. Watch for us on the television."

The whole conversation left me a little uneasy. The first tine she was home, I asked her about it.

"Don't worry about it, honey. She's been a little scattered since her divorce. I think it hurt her more than she'll admit. Believe me, I'll not make her mistakes. I love you too much."

When I asked her what kind of mistakes, she was a little vague. I pushed and she finally admitted she'd had an affair with one of the men on the tour, and her husband found out.

"I'll give you my word, honey, I'll never hurt you like that. I have too much to lose."

The sex those three days were frantic. I asked her about it and she told me she was trying to get enough to last the month. The next break she could only stay with me for two days because she had a shoot scheduled for the bathing suit company. Seems they had a sportswear brand in addition to the swimwear, and had all kinds of sports figures on contract. I'll admit the shots were well done, but the swimwear made me uneasy. This time it really was a thong, and she and Jan were paired with two up and coming golfers, Steve something and a young Spanish player named Juan Pablo. The men were in tight speedo type suits, and there were a couple of shots where the girls were entwined with the golfers, thong back and topless. I was not happy, even though there was not even a hint of breast.

Usually she called every Monday and Tuesday, but I never heard from her, even though I called and left six emails. The next week, I returned the favor, not answering the phone any of the ten times she called. She was home the next week, unscheduled, in a fury.

After she ranted and raved about me not answering, I told her I was just following her example. A lot of frustration came out from both of us, ending abruptly when I told her to shove her Spanish boyfriend right up her almost naked ass.

She went so pale I thought she was going to pass out. By then I'd reached my limit with her, so I got up and left. Two days later she tracked me down to a job site, and begged on her knees for a chance to talk. Cin spent two days telling me there was nothing there, and if I was that unhappy she'd never do another ad. She swore on everything she could think of she was quitting for good when the season was over. Looking back, it was like she was reading from a script, but it was the right words at the right time, and I believed her.

She did two more shoots, both times with the golfer, wearing casual wear once and more modest swim suits the next, and in no picture were they in physical contact.

It all started unraveling when I needed a set of tires for my truck, and went to a dealer in the town I happened to be working in. It took over an hour, so I walked across the street for lunch. After lunch, I had to wait another ten minutes before they were done, so I looked at the magazines, casually glancing through. It was an golf magazine, two weeks old, that caught my interest. There was a profile of Juan Pablo, showing him on and off the course. The picture that caught my eye was him sitting in the stands watching beach volleyball, then kissing one of the winners. The article quoted him as saying he went to every one his schedule would allow, to support his girlfriend. You guessed it, the player was Cindy.

I was beyond pissed. I deliberately missed her calls, and flew to her next match. She and Jan always roomed together, and I got there about seven. Jan answered the door, and paled when she saw me. Cindy wasn't there. I called her in front of Jan. She sounded happy to hear from me.

"Hi honey. Where have you been? I was getting worried you may have replaced me."

"I could never replace you hon. Did I catch you at dinner?" I could hear noises in the background.

"Yes you did. Jan and I are in the hotel dining room. The food is actually pretty good."

I managed to chat her up for a few minutes while Jan got progressively paler. I hung up and smiled at Jan.

"Jan, did I ever tell you I was in the Army? I spent two years in the desert, killing people as often as I could. I won't kill you Jan, but if I don't get the truth out of you right now, I'm going to break your wrists and your knees. You'll live, but you'll never be able to walk right again, or use your arms like you used to. Nobody needs a crippled volleyball player, or coach. I'll got to jail, for sure, but not before I get to Cindy and her Latin lover. Your choice, but if you choose the easy way, now would be a good time to start."

Would I have done it? No, but I was really pissed at the time. Jan must have thought I was serious though, judging by the terrified look on her face. She was talking so fast I had to make her slow down.

It started at the end of the first season. Not with him, but another volleyball player. No love, she said, just releasing tension. She admitted doing the same thing, until her husband caught her. She begged, but the deed was done, and he divorced her. Cindy hooked up with Juan at the first photo shoot, seems rubbing so much skin against each other was just too much to handle.

"She told me you were cool with it, Jess. Said you were doing the same thing. Said you guys came up with an agreement. She was free to satisfy her urges, and you were doing the same while you traveled for work. She also told me it was all going to end when the season was over, and she talked constantly about how happy she was going to be when you guys got married."

She hung her head, saying she knew now there was never an agreement.

"Where is she now?"

Her eyes got huge. "Please Jess, let me call her, get her back here so you guys can talk. I'm sure you can work it out."

"Tell me right now, or you'll have at least broken elbow to add to your injuries." I stood up and she shrank back in terror.

"They're in his hotel across town. He's playing a tournament here."

She gave me the room number, saying they might not be there, they may be out dancing. I got her by the throat, backing her to the wall, putting my face against hers.

"If you warn her, I'll come back, and I'll be even more pissed. We understand each other?"

She actually wet her pants at the end, nodding so fast I was afraid she was going to injure herself.

I was in the lobby, watching them come in arm in arm and head for the elevators. I had the room number and could have waited, but I knew what they were doing so I couldn't see the point of waiting for them to get naked. I gave them three minutes and kicked the door in.

They were locked in a kiss, the top of her dress dangling at her waist, his shirt unbuttoned and loose. She looked over, recognized me, and almost fainted. He was just buzzed enough to try being macho. I shut him down pretty fast, twirling him around and locking his arm.

"Stay still motherfucker. Struggle and your elbow gets broke. Understand me? Good. Now tell me how long have you been fucking her, and if you lie, I'll know."

"Three, maybe four months. It don't mean nothin', man. Take it easy."

"So you've been fucking for that long, knowing she was engaged, and you thought that was all right? I read you've engaged, and she's waiting for you back in Spain, wonder if she would think it's nothing? Let's call her and find out."

He was begging by this time. Cindy had put the bed between us and had managed to get her dress back into place. She still hadn't said a word.

I figured I was running out of time, there had been people in the hall and I wasn't exactly being quiet. I let go and he stood up. I punched as hard as I could into his rib cage, cracking two. Try to swing a club now, motherfucker.

He collapsed on the floor and I looked at Cindy. "Keep the ring. It doesn't matter to me any more. Come back when you've got the nerve, and I'll have your things packed. Don't bother trying to talk. We got nothin' to say to each other, not any more."

I walked out the door, took the elevator down, and got the manager. I apologized, saying I had always been clumsy and fell into the door of Room 418, explaining that my girlfriend and I were going to visit, and he was standing behind the door and may be hurt. I gave him a credit card number, telling him I would be glad to pay for repairs and any medical bills. He wanted me to stay but I said I really needed to catch a plane, and he could call if he needed me. He could just ask my girlfriend for my number.

...

I heard about it the next day, when I watched a little of the tournament he was playing in. The announcers made a big deal of his injury, saying it might just keep him out until the end of the season, explaining it was just an accident among friends. The rumor mill in both sports started grinding right away, and he used his injury as a reason to fly home. The next season the announcers speculated on his new single status.

I hadn't said a word to anyone, but a lot of the other golfers and announcers stayed at the same hotel, and it was impossible to keep it quiet.

Jan and Cindy did poorly the next three outings, losing in straight games each time.

At the end of the season, Jan actually did retire, but Cindy signed with a new partner fresh out of college. She played four more seasons before she quit and actually got her PhD.

She tried for about three months to get me to talk to her, telling my mother she was flying in and we were going to talk if she had to force me. Mom laughed and dared her. She never came.

...

So there you have it. Not very original, the same thing probably happened a hundred thousand times every day around the world. But it was my world that got destroyed. For two years I had a deep mistrust when dealing with a woman. Then I met Melody, and light came back into my life.

Like I said, she was a trauma nurse in the local hospital. Twelve hour shifts Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and on call every other week. I thought it was fate, because all she did was work, and I was usually out of town at least four days, so our off time usually matched.

We started out slow, a few dinners, dancing at better clubs than the bar we met at. Saw a few chick flicks, went to a museum, a baseball game, she was pretty much up for anything. But then again, all she had to do was bat those big beautiful eyes and I fell all over myself trying to please her.

We never saw each other on the days she worked, although she would always call me whenever she got a break. She lived with two other nurses, and said they'd made an agreement never to bring their boyfriends home.

"One of us is always working, another is usually asleep, so we keep you guys out to keep the distractions down. Plus last year, before we made the rules, one stole a boyfriend while another slept. I had to replace both of them. So no guys, baby, rules are rules."

When we finally got physical, it was everything I hoped it would be and more. She was flexible, skilled, and threw everything she had into it. She was twenty seven at the time, at her peak, her body both soft and hard in the appropriate places. And she liked it a little rough. Her favorite position was me pounding her doggie style, her hair in my hand, pulling back so hard she had to arch her neck. Other times she liked me taking a breast in each hand, twisting her nipples and tugging them out. She'd gush a river. And when we went at it soft and gentle, mostly missionary, she would tear up, every time.

We were together almost from the time I would get back from a job until she had to go home to get ready for work. I got tired of renting motel rooms, and put out feelers. In my business I had made a lot of contacts, so when I asked people to keep an eye out for a house, at least three bedrooms on a large lot, I got a good bit of ribbing.

"Someone finally caught you, huh? Good for you."

That was a pretty common theme. I'd just smile and show them a picture. Then the comments pretty much ran along the lines of lucky bastard.

One interior designer took me to task. "Idiot. Don't you know ninety nine percent of the time, the woman picks the house? Might want to keep her in the loop."

I took her advice, and armed with inside information about houses that were in distress, or a homeowner looking to unload one due to the economy or a divorce, went looking. Using the excuse I wanted to spend as much time as possible with her and needed a woman's viewpoint, I took her along.

She wasn't really impressed with the first five, but the second weekend we walked into a four bedroom on three acres on the edge of town.

She walked around the house, touching the appliances, really liking the large kitchen. She loved the floor plan, which put the master bedroom on one side of the house away from the others, allowing privacy. We had to walk the entire three acres, discovering a little spring, and she actually touched a few of the bigger trees.

"What are you thinking about?"

Mel looked at me, misty eyed. "Treehouses."

I took a day off the next week and started the paperwork. I'd gotten a really good deal. They had just started foreclosure, and were happy to avoid the process. The owner had abandoned it that week, leaving for parts unknown.

Friday had us back out at the house. We walked it one more time. I asked her if she thought she could be happy living here.

"I'm sure I'd love it. Why the question?"

"Because we bought it Monday. I'll need you to pick out new furniture. Sound all right?"

Before she could answer me I dropped to a knee. "I hope you like this house. I intend to live in it for a long time. A long time with you by my side. I'd like to have to utilize one or two of the bedrooms sometime down the line. All you have to do is say yes."

I held out the ring. A traditional, simple ring with a nice size rock on the top. She surprised me by swooning against the kitchen counter.

Melody recovered quickly. Tears were in her eyes. I didn't get the answer I was expecting.

"I love you, Jessie. But I can't marry you right now. I'm begging you to give me some time. I have things I need to do before I accept your proposal. Please, and I'm begging here, give me six months and ask again. I promise the wait will be worth your while."

It was not the answer I was expecting, and I was terribly disappointed. She tried her best to reassure me, to the point of taking me shopping the next day, for furniture. She didn't have a preference as long as it was sturdy. We bought a master bedroom suite with a California King bed, a sectional sofa, a love seat, and a rocker for the living room. I looked at her as she sat in the rocker. She grinned.

"This might be nice to have, a year or two down the road." The simple statement filled me with hope. I gave her a credit card, telling her to buy what she thought we needed.

I took Melody to meet my family. Mom and Becky liked her instantly. Grandma wasn't as enthused. My younger brother practically drooled on her, and my stepdad just grinned. I took it as a good sign.

I came in the next Friday, going straight to the new house. She had added a nice dining room suite, and had outfitted a guest room. Her car was outside, but I didn't see her. I found her, gloriously naked, on the California King. She slid across the bed, reaching for me.

"I was about to start without you. I want to christen every piece of furniture, every foot of space in our new home. Next weekend we'll do the yard."

I tried, I really did, but all we accomplished that weekend was the bedroom and the dining room table. She laughed, saying she'd have pity on me, and we'd do the guestroom and the living room next week.

...

The next weekend I was at the bar waiting for her, happier than I'd ever been in my life, when the guy walked in and slugged me.

When she disappeared, I had a few more drinks with my friends, leaving early for my new house, to wait for the love of my life.

Two shots rang out as I walked out to my car. They hit the car two spaces down. Still came close enough to scare the shit out of me. Instinct had kicked in and I had dropped and rolled behind an SUV.

I could hear the guy as he approached, crying and swearing as he looked between cars. I rolled under the SUV, popping up and running in a crouch to the next line of cars.

"Come on out, motherfucker! I'll make sure you never screw over another husband." The voice shook with rage, and I could tell he was pretty drunk by the slurring. I got a look at him as he passed under a parking lot light. It was the guy who punched me, so I knew this wasn't random, the guy was after me.

My stepdad had a saying, 'never leave a live snake behind you', so I hunkered down and waited. He was almost level with my hiding place, looking in the other line, so I tossed the shoe I had slipped off gently behind him. The slight noise made him twirl, and as soon as his back was turned I was all over him.

I grabbed the hand that held the pistol, yanking back, hard. The pressure made him release it, and after that I kicked the shit out of him. He never got a lick in.

Realizing if I didn't stop soon I'd kill him, I let go and got up. He was out cold, so I picked him up, threw him in the bed of the truck, and started driving, ending up in front of an abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. He was starting to come round when I dropped the tailgate and dragged him out by his feet, listening to his head hit the gravel as he fell. It knocked him out again. He came around when I threw some water that had been sitting in a cooler on the back of the truck in his face. He swiveled his head, eyes widening in terror when he realized he was tied up. I had no intention of killing him, but I did want to scare the shit out of him. I held up the pistol.

"A .32? Really? 'Bout all you can do with a weapon like that is piss people off. I know it did me. Now I'm gonna talk, you're gonna listen and nod your head. When I'm done you can talk, and it better be good, because right now I have an urge to stick this peashooter up your ass as far as it will go and squeeze off the last three rounds in it. I hear it's a particularly painful, ugly way to die. Now's the time for you to talk."

I had to hand it to him. Ass beat, tied up and helpless, he still glared at me. "What do you want me to say? I'm okay with you fucking my wife? Not gonna happen, ever. And sooner or later you won't be watching, and I'll get justice. Best you just kill me now."

I looked down at him. He should have been terrified but he wasn't backing down. Made me kind of admire him. I grabbed him, sitting him down on my tailgate, and held him by his shirtfront as I methodically slapped him. "I (pop!) ain't(pop!)fucking anybody's wife, (pop! pop!). what do I have to do to get you to leave me alone? The humor has gone out of this situation pretty fast. The .32 up your ass it looking better and better."

"Back pocket," he gasped. "Get my wallet out. Tell me that isn't Melody in the picture. If it's not, I'll apologize and you can do what you want with me."

I can't describe the feeling that went through me when he said her name. Denial was raging through my head as I pulled the wallet out, already knowing what I was going to find. It was her, younger, a little thinner, smiling into the camera as she posed, in her wedding dress, with her husband. Sighing, I sat down beside him.

He actually looked pleased. "Is that her, motherfucker? Never mind, I can see by the look on your face it is. You really didn't know, did you? How's it feel? I hope it sucks as much for you as it does for me."