Wife tries to get her hubby to swing

I was standing at the bar next to my wife when Don showed up. I laughed and accused him of being late. He threw up his hands in mock despair. Meagan just frowned at me; she seemed nervous. "Whatcha drinkin'," I said to the new arrival. "And where's Bert?" Bert was Bertha, a pretty, big breasted German girl ten years any of our junior. "A beer will be fine," he said. "She's at home. Got a bug of some kind." I nodded, Meagan had had the same thing a week earlier and had had to stay home to recuperate. A couple of hours, several dances—we shared Meagan and a couple of local ladies—and a whole lot of sauce later, the conversation loosened up—a lot. "Whaddya think of that redhead over there," said Don. He was studying me. "Huh? What do I think?" I said. Meagan looked at me in a way I could not decipher. I looked back at her, my look had to be a question. "She's cute, I guess," I said, finally. "You guess? Her name's Joan, and she's as hot as they come. I hear her husband likes to watch too," said Don. Meagan now looked daggers at Don. "Watch what," I said, not getting it the first time. And what was wrong with Meagan. "Watch her getting it," said Don. "It goes on a lot you know. I mean husbands wanting to be cuckolded by their wives." "Oh yeah, I'll bet," I said. I had to laugh; Meagan was clearly not comfortable with the conversation. "A cuckold? Hey Meagan, would you get off on cuckolding me?" Her face drained. It was so obvious that I knew. I knew it then. Right then. A perfect storm of coincidences now occurred. The redhead, Joan, moseyed over and pulled Don out on the dance floor. Meagan tried to get the bartender's attention, but he was too far away and too busy to offer her the time she needed to recoup from her lapse. And, I had made a decision; I was not going to let this fester. Now, was the time. "Meagan," I said, getting her attention. She wouldn't look at me. "Who is he?" Her eyes flicked up and met mine. "Who?" she managed. I waited. "Well who, Chester?" "The man you're fucking. The man you've made me a cuckold with. And, before you answer, know this, I will know if you lie. I will know immediately," I said. "Chester I—" "Who the fuck is he? Tell me now?" I demanded. "Chester—It doesn't matter, Chester. It was just sex. No commitment. Just two sweaty bodies doing it, and it's over," she said. "I'm sorry okay. I just kinda lost control; but I got it back now, really. I'm sorry." She looked desperate, as well she should have. "Doesn't matter? You are kidding, right? You're sorry? Tell me who he is now, Meagan, or I'm gone, and I mean forever," I said. Now, she was flustered and desperate. She looked out onto the floor. My eyes followed hers. "Him?" I said. "My boss?" I began to stiffen up. My anger was about to reach the boiling point. It finally did. I walked out onto the floor and yanked my good friend, my boss, away from his partner. "What the fuck!" he said. The woman's mouth was wide open but no sounds emerged. My first punch relieved him of every scintilla of air in his lungs; my second dropped him; I proceeded to beat the high holy shit out of him. I walked out and headed home. The police were waiting for me; I have no idea who called them or how they knew where I lived; I suspect they got the latter from my wife, but who knew. They cuffed me and took me into custody. My jail cell was lonely and cold. And, I was thirsty. My wife arrived early in the morning, but she couldn't see me until I was arraigned. By noon she was there with the bail money. "Chester, whaddya gonna do?" she said, coming up to me, as they led me out and presented me with my personal stuff. "You put Don in the hospital, you know." "He's still alive?" I said, in mock disappointment. "It's all my fault. All my fault," she said. "Jesus, I didn't mean to—you know." "Cuckold me?" I said. "Chester, whaddya gonna do. Can we just go home now?" she said. "Yeah, I have to get my clothes," I said. "We're quits you and I. You can fuck that asshole, that so called friend of mine, all you want now. I mean if you can get Bertha's permission. Oh, and he can fuck his insurance agency fucking job too." "Bertha already knows. She was okay with it?" said Meagan. That one stopped me. "Bertha was okay with you two fucking around on me—us—she and I?" "Yes, they've done some swinging. He, Don, wanted us to join them. We were going to talk to you about it—well—last night. I guess it was a bad idea," she said. I just stared at her. "You two—you three—conspired to get me to swing with you! Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?" I said. "I told him you wouldn't go for it. He just said that he thought that, if we went about it right, that he could get you to come around," she said. "Well, I guess he didn't go about it right then did he? I mean fucking you first and then trying to get me to go for it. Not too bright on his part. Hope you enjoyed having his dick up your twat. Is his bigger than mine? I really want to know. Are you a size queen?" "Chester it has nothing to do with you and me or the size of his cock or any of that. It was just craziness—silliness on my part—our part..." she said. "Answer me Meagan. I want to know!" I said. "Okay, okay, he's a little bigger, but only a little. There's no real difference," she said. I could sense my face darken. I may be headed to prison, Meagan, I want to thank you in advance for that; you know just in fucking case I never see your whoring ass again! Of course, the upside for you is that you won't have me standing in the way of you getting his big fat dick up you will you—cunt!" I said. She was crying her eyes out as we walked to the car. "Chester, I'm sorry. It was a bad idea. I was never sure I even wanted to do it anyway, I mean the swinging. Please, Chester, give me another chance. I need you. I love you," she whined. "Yeah, fucking right!" I said Of course I was not in a believing mood. Arriving at home, I tried to call Bertha. She wasn't home. "She's at the hospital. Don has a broken jaw and cracked ribs as well as a concussion. I think he'll be all right, but he's going to be in the hospital for several days. Bertha called to tell me," she said. "I hope the motherfucker—make that, other-man's-wife-fucker—dies," I said. She was howling now. "Please, Chester, I will never do it again. I just lost it; I don't know why. I don't even like the guy that much!" she said. "You don't know why you did it! You don't like him that much!" I looked at her with the purest of angers in my eyes, of that I was sure. "You didn't even like him that much!" I repeated! "Meagan, you're a piece of work. You all are," I said. "I may not be rich like him, but at least I'm honest and loyal. None of the three of you can say as much the way I see it. Kindly go to hell all of you!" ****** My trial for aggravated assault was held two months later. I was found guilty. "Chester Gilford, you have been found guilty of aggravated assault. I hereby sentence you to from one to five years in the state penitentiary for your crime." The gavel sounded. My knees felt weak. My lawyer mumbled something about an appeal. I looked around and saw my wife; my faithless wife. Her eyes were filled with tears. Well, what the hell, I thought. I was cuffed and put into a waist chain and ankle shackles on the spot. The guard took hold of my arm and led me away. My shortened stutter steps made it plain to all that I was a prisoner, talk about adding to my humiliation. Besides Meagan, the remainder of the unholy three were there. Don was sneering, Bertha was perplexed. And oh yeah, Meagan? Meagan was beseeching me to forgive her. I wondered if she would be visiting me in the joint. I wondered if I even gave a damn; I was pretty sure I didn't. I was sent to a medium security unit about 150 miles from home. It didn't matter to me, but the inmates there were at least not your average axe murderers. Most were in for stuff like me or white collar types most serving sentences similar to my own. Oh, there were a few big time baddies, but those were old guys finishing out their life sentences in their dotage. Turned out she did visit me, or tried to, several times in that first year; but I refused to see her. I was hoping she'd just divorce me and let me alone; but, she didn't do that either. I was paroled after eighteen months. My experience inside was enlightening. I actually made some friends—go figure. Couldn't trust my wife, my boss, his wife, or likely very many others of the old crowd, the way I was seeing things; but, the cons I met inside were reliable as hell. Helluva thing. As I stood in front of the cage waiting for the final paperwork, and to get signed out, and for the few personal things that I had brought in with me a year and a half before, a guard approached me. "Do good Chester. Don't wanna see you back here, okay?" "Don't worry, Mr. Masters, as much as I like the place, I will be making other plans," I said, smiling. "Uh—Chester, I don't know if you're expecting her, but I think your wife is outside waiting for you. I know you rejected seeing her in the past when she came up to visit," he said. My smile faded in a hurry. "Man, that's all I need," I said. "Well, maybe it's time to get it over with; I mean my final words to her." Guard Masters just nodded his agreement. The gate clanged shut behind me. The bright sunlight had me squinting and looking left and right for what I knew was coming. The six year old Chevy, my old car, came up beside me. Meagan leaned out and smiled. "Can I give you a lift, handsome," she said, trying to be jovial, I supposed. Not a good idea when a man has just spent a piece of his life he can never get back in a cage. I just opened the car door and got in. I think she could tell my mood wasn't jovial. We said nothing for the first few miles. "Chester..." "What did you come for—really—Meagan?" I said. "Why are you bothering me?" "Chester, I—I—I am so sorry for all of this. I have cried every single day since you went away," she said. "Went away! You mean since I was locked up, Meagan. Say it, since I was locked up." I said. "Chester, it's hard—okay. Okay, since you were locked up and put in chains and kept from your job and rightful place and home. Chester, it was all my fault. I am so fucking sorry," she cried. "I cheated on you and tried to make you like it. If you give me a chance, you will be the happiest sonovabitch that ever lived; I swear it." I looked her squarely in the eye; I had to lean forward and look back to do it as she drove. And what about Don the asshole?" I said. "And his cunt wife, Bertha?" "They're sorry this happened too, Chester. He tried to get the charges dropped after you were—convicted—but it was too late. Bertha? She just went along with anything he wanted. They aren't bad people, Chester. They just screwed up; well, Don did," she said. Something in her words or tone hit me. "You're still seeing him, aren't you?" I said. I looked her square in the eyes again. "Chester, he's not a bad guy. I know he hurt you; I hurt you. I feel awful about all of this. I had to argue with him not to have him come down here today to meet you too," she said. "He wants to make it all up to you." "You—haven't—answered—my—question—Meagan. Are—you—still—seeing—mister asshole?" I enunciated each word. Anger was boiling up inside of me. "Chester, yes we see each other occasionally, but it's not like you think. He isn't fucking me. Not that," she said. "Not ever again that, I promise you." "Then what? Why do you see the man that put me behind bars?" I said. "Chester, I needed someone to hold on to while you were inside that awful place; I felt so guilty. I was losing my mind. I couldn't work—hold a job. I wasn't lying when I said I've cried almost daily since you've been—gone. "Don—well, he stood by me. Made my payments when I couldn't—he felt guilty too. Found me a part time job to pay for my food and such," she said. "What did you have to give in return, Meagan?" I said. She started to cry, and there was no stopping her. I waited. "There was no fucking, Chester, I swear to you, none of that," she said. "Okay, then what," I said. She started wailing again. I was becoming annoyed. I waited some more. "Well?" I said. "Just an occasional handjob. Maybe a blow job or two," she said, and she said it so quietly I think she was hoping I wouldn't hear it. If so, she was about to be disappointed. "You mindless fucking whore! You're fucking crazy," I said. "Stop the car." "Huh?" she said. "Stop the fucking car, damn it!" She did, I got out, grabbed my bag, and started walking. It was twenty miles in the heat of the day, but I was afraid I would kill her if I stayed with her. She had to be the dumbest broad in the whole fucking world. She got out of the car and started chasing me down the road. "Chester! I never fucked him. I swear I never did. He knows it'll never happen again for him. Only you get that," she said, wailing as I strode off and made the turn down the old dirt road toward Baxter Town; she fell hopelessly behind. The road wasn't passable by car, I knew. I was hoping she wouldn't follow me. But, now it was my turn to be disappointed. It took me ten hours carrying that bag and stopping now and again to catch my breath, but I made it. It was 7:30PM when I strolled up to the little bed and breakfast at the edge of town. I didn't see the Chevy; there was hope. I headed up to the registration desk and asked to get a room. The man asked for my name; I gave it. "Oh, Mr. Gilford, your wife has already rented the room," he said. He handed me the key. I just stood there dumbfounded. "Mr. Gilford?" "Uh—oh, yes—uh—what room is it," I said. I was too fucking tired to argue at that point. I'd kick her out when I got to the room. That was my plan. It was about to be altered. I keyed the door and entered. What I noticed first was the smell. It was her perfume. It had always enslaved me in the past. I was so horny after eighteen months behind bars that that smell was getting to me. But, she wasn't around. She'd left an envelope on the bed. I opened it. There was money in it and a note. I read the note. "Chester, I don't know what to say. I am begging you to forgive me—for everything. My heart is yours, always was, always will be. I knew you'd probably throw me out if you found me here, so after freshening up a bit, I decided to leave you this note and a little money. It's all I have, but I know you need it more. Chester there's a little bar down the street, maybe two blocks away. I'll be there until it closes tonight. I mean in case you want to see me. In case you've maybe, hopefully, changed your mind. After that, if you haven't changed your mind, I will disappear forever, and you won't have to worry about me anymore. I love you Chester. Your wife, Meagan. I counted the money. It was four-hundred and eighty-four hundred dollars. It was apparently every dime she had; I just shook my head—what a woman. I had come into town with ninety dollars in my pocket. I could use the cash. I sat and thought. Did I really want to subject myself to another meeting with her. But, her letter? The money? It unsettled me. I took a quick shower, changed into the extra clothes in my little tube bag, and headed down the street for the Challenger bar. The desk kid told me where it was. She was in a booth nursing a drink and nibbling on some chips. She looked tired and depressed. I leaned back against the wall and just watched her for a moment. She was beautiful, my wife, to me she was beautiful; but she was stupid beyond belief. Handjobs, blow jobs, the images just wouldn't go away. I was all but certain that there had been more, but what the hell; I'd talk to her anyway and deal with the rest later. I sighed and headed for her. She didn't notice me until my shadow blocked the light from her table. Her head snapped up. "Chester! You came!," she said. Her smile melted my convict's heart. I nodded. "Come on, Meagan, I'm starving. I need to eat. It's been a long day," I said. She let me lead her out. I paid the bill at the bar on our way out and headed a few doors back up the street to a little ma-and-pa café. A pasty-faced kid showed up with well worn menus. We ordered. I wanted a cheeseburger and fries in the worst way. Meagan got a chef's salad. We sipped our iced teas. "Meagan, I gotta tell yuh, you telling me that you've been having sex with that asshole while I've been inside got to me. I mean it really got to me," I said. "I realize that now," she said. "I thought that—you know—if I didn't let him into my pants..." There she'd said it again. I just couldn't believe that asshole Don would have let it stop there, but for the moment I would go along. "No, Meagan, he doesn't get anything of mine—nothing. He's a user, a bad man," I said. "Are you mine, Meagan?" "Of course, Chester. But, he helped me when—you know—you weren't there, Chester. I would have lost our home. I was desperate. And—and—he was satisfied with—well with less than he wanted," she said. "I sorta had to do it, Chester." I began to see I had a problem: that she'd had a problem. It did indeed look like she tried to be faithful to me, in her fucking fashion. "How much money did he give you to make the rent?" I said. "He paid it all. Every month, for seventeen months: $900 a month. I don't know how much that adds up to, Chester. He felt guilty about you going to prison too. He just asked for a little relief every now and then. And, he didn't really push it," she said. "What was wrong with his own wife giving him relief?" I said. "He says he needs variety, you know, some guys need more than one woman can give," she said. My look must have cued her. "Chester, it's true. Some people do need more than one person to do—be..." "Say it, Meagan, you meant 'do it with'," I said. She squirmed in her seat, but nodded a yes. "I guess so," she said finally. "Meagan what am I going to do with you. Look, this is the final word on this if you want to be with me..." I started. "You mean you'll forgive me! You'll stay with me now," she said. "Just shut up and listen. We're gonna try, Meagan, but I am a one woman man, and if you want me around, you are as of now a one man woman; no negotiation—none. Am I clear?" I said. "Yes sir," she said. "Anything, I'll do anything you say if only you'll stay, Chester. I need you. I really do, Chester." I nodded but slowly. I wasn't sure she could stave off the inevitable assaults of the bad guys out there. This woman, my woman, was weak. She could be sold a bill of goods by anybody. But, after a year and a half inside; I needed her worse than she needed me. And, I wanted her. I'd take care of Mr. Don Carlton in due time. His ass was going to be mine. ****** We'd stayed the night in the hotel and fucked ourselves into a state of physical disability. God she was hot, or, maybe it was me that was desperate, who the hell knew. And, in the morning we did it again, twice, before packing up and hitting the road. We talked a little on the road home, but in between talks, and in the back of my mind I wondered what the hell I was doing. I had just had some of the greatest sex I'd had in years, with a wife who had been cheating on me even after I was in prison. That she was desperate to save the house and survive, I understood; yes, that I understood. That the guy who had cuckolded me and, in my opinion, had been the cause of me going to prison, was still cuckolding me, had agreed to help her for sexual favors, I did not understand. He, Mr. Carlton had to know I was not going to be happy when I got out, and I wasn't. And, I did not understand how my wife could not realize how badly I was going to take it when she saw me. An outsider not going through it all might see my path to be simple and straight forward: dump the cheating woman and screw over the interloper. But they were not enduring the inner turmoil that I was going through. They did not know Meagan. Meagan was not a military genius. She simply reacted to the calamities that beset her, always took the shortest and easiest way out. Anything more complicated was simply beyond her. So, to reiterate, what the hell was I doing, and what the hell was I going to do. We pulled into the driveway at around noon-thirty. The house looked the same except some of the bushes were pretty overgrown. The garage door needed painting, but it had that even before I left. I'd be getting to it as soon as I could—why was I thinking of garage doors? Meagan watched me as I took in the scene. "You're home, my husband, and those awful days in that place are behind you forever. I promise to protect you; I do," she said. I looked over at her. She was being sincere. The truth was that I needed her to protect me; or, maybe love me was the right way to say it, in spite of her failings and continued messin' with Carlton. I needed her to care for my heart, and that was an absolute and totally unadorned fact. Water under the bridge, as brackish as it was, was still water under the bridge, and this was the dawning of a new beginning for us. Still, in the back of my mind, I knew that sooner or later I was going to have to deal with mister asshole. I would be ready for him this time, and I was going to get my pound of flesh one way or another, one fucking ounce at a time; and, I was not going to go back to prison for the doing of it either. ****** Initially things were idyllic around the house. I took a few days to get reacquainted my—our—place before I went looking for work. I landed a job in less than a week. It was at a Radio Shack. Pay was bad, but the work was actually interesting; in the joint, technology had become my passion. Now I had the resources to discover its many facets, and I was determined to do just that. There was a definite side benefit to the job too. By the end of the first week on the job, I had some things that sooner or later I was going to need; it turned out to be sooner. I had my home phone wired to a recorder in the garage before the end of day three on the job. I couldn't afford a computer for our home yet, and the old one we had had broken down, who knew how; but the recorder would be enough for now. Plus, I had acquired a smaller—very small—micro-recorder that was going to be my main backup whenever I was out and about just in case. All, I needed now was a sixgun, but I was on parole and I wasn't going there. At the end of the first week on the job, I was checking the phone for incomings daily. It was on Sunday afternoon while Meagan was shopping that I became privy to a conversation between asshole and my wife for the first time. "Hello?" said Meagan. "Well, how's it goin' good lookin'," said Donny baby. "He any more mellow than he was before?" "Don, no. Don—I—I can't talk to you anymore," she said. "I made a promise to my husband, and I am going to keep it. I have to keep it. Please don't call here anymore, okay." "Oh, I see, you need me so I get a little, but now that he's back, you dump me is that it?" he said. "You have a beautiful wife, Don. She will take care of you. I can't anymore," said Megan. "Did you tell him about us?" he said. "Yes, well, mostly," she said. "I'm guessing mostly did not include the weekends at the cabin," he said. So she'd lied to me. Well, I kinda knew she had minimized things. I just hadn't realized she'd minimized things that much! I was upset, but not upset enough—yet. "Don, I have to go. Please don't bother us anymore," she said. "Tell, me little one, does he know you signed a paper to pay me back for the money I loaned you to make the rent? 'Cause if you're cutting me off, I wanna be paid back. If not I'm taking the house. Got it?" he said. "I get the pussy I want and you get to keep your house—simple." "I—I—Don, that's not fair—I—I—you know, gave you stuff, did stuff for you..." "And what was that little one?" He said. "You know, stuff?" she said. I'd heard enough. The asswipe was blackmailing her. Well, I had him on tape. That was a start. Not enough, but a start. ****** I sat in the foyer waiting for the man to call me in. I didn't have an appointment, but I did have an in; the guy owed me. "Hello, Chester," said the banker. "Hello, Charlie," I said. "Chester," he said. "I know why you're here. We still have the one thousand dollars you deposited of course; you can have it any time, but, I'm sure you know that, right?" "Yeah, I now and that's fine, Charlie. But, the thousand is not why I'm here. That is just a special little emergency fund for me just in case. No, I'm here for another reason," I said. I spent the next half hour explaining things to him. "Wow!" he said. "But, Chester, that's a lot of money. I don't know..." "Look Charlie, you remember the night I saved your ass right. Your wife would have gotten everything if I hadn't gotten you outta there. You're the one that said that if I ever needed anything you'd be there. Well, I need that something now. And you will be paid back, okay?" I said. "So, are you there for me, Charlie?" The banker looked defeated. "Yeah, I am, Chester, I am. You'll get the loan. But, Chester, I know—you know—about you serving time. You gotta job yet?" he said. "Yes, I got it a few days ago," I said. "Good, that's very good," he said. "Come by tomorrow. We'll have the check ready for you." I nodded, we shook hands, and I left. I got home several hours later. It was time to talk to Meagan. "Where have you been," she said. She was crying, present tense. "Chester, we need to talk. I—I—I haven't been completely truthful with you," she said. "I need to tell you some things." "Okay," I said. "I took a seat on the couch while she paced back and forth for some little time before stopping and staring at me. "Chester, it wasn't just a few handjobs or blow jobs. I fucked him a lot while you were in prison. Mostly at this little cabin place he has up by the lake. We did it all, and yes it was fun, okay. And, if you want to know I wish you had been there with us. Oh, I know you don't have any wish to do that kind of thing, but I did—do," she said. She was wringing her hands. "I've fucked up my chance with you haven't I." She howled. "Calm down," I said. "Anything else?" She looked at me strangely. She clearly expected that I was going to go off on her, but I already knew what was up, at least mostly, so that was not about to happen; she of course, did not know that I knew or what I was thinking. "Okay? That's all you've got to say?" she said. "No, I asked if there was anything else you wanted to tell me," I said. "Well, he wants me to continue doing him," she said. Now she couldn't look me in the eyes. "Chester, God help me, I still want to, but I don't want to, and I know it makes no damn sense at all. I won't though, I meant what I said about being faithful to you now, and I swear to you that I will keep my promise." I snickered. "Did you tell him you would?" I said. The answer to this would determine how I would play it from here on out. "No!" she almost screamed. "I told him I would not and not to bother me or us anymore." "Okay, then, is that it?" I said. She was actually getting mad that I wasn't being more emotional—that I wasn't getting mad. "Chester! What are you doing?" she demanded. "Look, Meagan, it's true confessions time, I guess. I want to get it all out there, so I—we—can deal with it. Okay?" I said. "Okay," she squeaked, and began to cry again. "There is something else. "Chester, I signed a paper to pay him back for the money he loaned me to keep up the house payments. Plus, he got me a job that I haven't told you about either, to help with the rest of my expenses. There were expenses, Chester. How do you think I was able to eat and buy gas for the car and stuff!" she said. "But, the money I made was too little to pay him back. I haven't been able to save a dime. Do you understand? I owe him." "What job?" I said. "It doesn't matter. I quit the day I picked you up at the—prison," she said. "I said what job, Meagan?" I said. She was wringing her hands again. "I was a bar girl. And, before you ask, there was no sex, none, except with him," she said. "I served drinks and got pinched a lot, but that was all." So it was all out there finally. I had a thought. "What about Bertha in all of this," I said. "She was always around. I think she has lovers on the side, but I never asked and don't care," she said. "But, Chester—are you mad?" "I'm not happy, but I knew you were lying that day in the car. I didn't know the details of course, but you are an absolutely terrible liar, Meagan; you really have to give up trying," I said. She threw herself on me and hugged me nearly to the point of pain. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just—afraid—you know—that I would lose you. "But, Chester, what are we going to do? We're going to lose the house—everything," she cried. "No, no we're not. But butthead is going to pay. And, you are going to help me make sure he does. This is for me as much as it is for you. I want you to tell me that you don't owe this blackmailer anything. Say it," I said. "I don't owe him anything, so there," she said. "Okay this is how it's going to play out," I said. I spent the next little while explaining to her what she had to do and when and how she was going to accomplish doing it. She just kept nodding as I talked. ****** "You've made the right decision, Meagan," said Don. "You won't be sorry. And, hubby never has to know, and that worthless bitch of mine doesn't give a damn anyway, so we're home free." His smile was almost sinful in its expression of satisfaction. He came closer to her. His hands cupped her breasts. The door slammed open. "Donald Carlton, you are under arrest," said the cheap suit. "What the fuck!" he said. He struggled with the two uniforms that cuffed him and led him out. He screamed back to Meagan still not getting it. "Meagan, call my wife to get me out on bail!" Meagan wasn't listening. ""I'm right here, Donald," said Bertha. "Oh good, tell these guys..." he started. "You're going down, asshole, for attempted rape and blackmail if I have my way. I heard the way you talked about me. Get your own bail. I'm getting a divorce, and everything you love along with it!" He looked from Bertha to Meagan to the cops and started screaming that he was being set up. "She wanted it! She asked me to help her..." "You have the right to remain silent..." The cops were getting it on. Stupid didn't realize that he had already admitted to blackmail and had been caught red handed in an apparent sex by intinidation: Meagan had played her role to the nines. Mr. Carlton was toast. The trial on charges of blackmail and attempted rape was summary and without the benefit of jury: the defendant's choice. The judge, going with the facts, sentenced him to twenty-four months in the state pen. Cuffed and led out through the front doors of the court house, his head snapped around when he heard my voice. "You'll like it at state," I said. "Well, then again, maybe not. Arrogance doesn't play well there." "Fuck you. I had your wife and she liked it. Remember that one, asshole," he said, as they hustled him out. "We have to pay him still," said Meagan. "I know that we do. I mean the money." "I've already paid Bertha. She can give him his half when he gets out—or not. Her choice. The money is community property," I said. "What! Where?" said Meagan. "I took out a loan. And I've got a job. I'll pay off the loan; it was cheap at twice the price. I'm gonna make a career out of computer stuff." I said. She smiled. "I like all of this software and hardware stuff that I've been messin' with." Epilogue: Bertha ended up getting their insurance business. Don ended up getting an extra year for an escape attempt from the minimum security he finally ended up at; his stupidity was almost beyond belief. His new digs were my old digs; he wouldn't like it near as much as I did. Meagan and I had a lot to sort out. It would take time, but time is something we had plenty of. And besides, she had something else to occupy her mind now, and it was growing in her belly.

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