An Appropriate Response Ch. 01

My name is Henry Guardsman. You probably don't remember me, but it's likely you've seen me on TV. I'm the guy the Sunday morning news shows and CNN call when they want analysis and insight about the lunatic who runs North Korea. I'm an expert, a talking head. For the last 20 years I have bounced back and forth between the State Department, various foreign policy think tanks, and academia. These days I'm a professor at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, just outside Boston, and a visiting professor at Kennedy School of Government at Harvard and at Stanford University in Palo Alto, CA. I know, it all sounds pretty prestigious. And it is.

However, outside of my clique of smartest-person-in-the-room colleagues, I am the most average guy you can imagine. I'm 51 years old, 5'9," 185 lbs., and there is nothing about me that would draw your attention. No woman has ever looked at me and thought me "hot," no woman has ever fantasized about me in bed. No woman has ever wanted me – except for my wife. And therein lies my story.

Emily and I have been married for 24 years. She is a research librarian for the Boston Public Library, 46 years old, and most people would say she looks about five years younger. We met when she was an undergrad and I was a graduate student. I was the teaching assistant for her class, and we started dating right after she finished the course. We married 3 weeks after she graduated. She is 5'4," and I think about 135 lbs. She was curvy the first time I saw her, and still has all the curves I love. What brought her to my attention was her intellect, sarcastic humor, sparkling smile, bright blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair, freckles on the nose and cheeks, and her wonderful, womanly shape. Oh, and her breasts. They are the things dreams are made of: 38 D and if not the first thing you notice about Emily O'Hara, they are the second and third.

As a kid Emily was a bit chubby, and quite insecure about her looks. Her three sisters are all tall and built like models – and by that I mean not at all my type. I was Emily's first lover, and she was mine. She was raised in a very conservative family, and taught to save herself until marriage. She almost succeeded. When Emily and I finally made love, it was the night I asked her to marry me.

Unlike Emily, my virginity wasn't a matter of the will, but of opportunity. I never had the chance. My dating life until I met her was filled with crushes on unattainable beauties, numerous first dates followed by "Henry, let's be friends" speeches, and hundreds if not thousands of nights of all-alone masturbating. Chicks may dig jocks and musicians, and even business majors with upward mobility, but pimply nerds with a fascination for international diplomacy don't get many opportunities for amorous affairs.

Dating Emily meant passing an exam proctored by the entire O' Hara family. She is the second of four sisters. The oldest is Shannon, a year older than Emily, who shares some of Emily's physical characteristics – hair color, freckles, and pretty face, but lacked the shapeliness. I can see why some men find her attractive, but I never did. Her personality reminded me of the worst stereotype of a high school cheerleader – shallow, materialistic in the extreme, and condescending toward those she considered her inferiors. At the time I first met the family, she had been married for a year to Brad Smithson, a tall, handsome guy, who had been an athlete in high school and college, and was at the time beginning his career at one of Boston's most prestigious investment firms.

Then there was Joanie, the third of four. She was pretty, but even less shapely. I met her when she was a senior in high school, and we became friends, due to her obvious intelligence. I helped her with her college essays. She ended up at Northwestern for her undergrad, followed by a doctorate in biochemistry at MIT. Later on Joanie married Will, a researcher who spends most of his time at Wood's Hole, an oceanographic facility on Cape Cod. Of all of Emily's family, I was the closest to Joanie.

The youngest was Denise. She was a high school freshman, and the one who looked the most like Emily. She was also the wild child of the family. While still in high school she had numerous boyfriends, a few arrests for pot smoking and public intoxication, and a family-embarrassing pregnancy that resulted in her dropping out of school for a semester, carrying the baby to term, and giving him up for adoption. In her twenties and thirties Denise married Matt, divorced, and married again, this time to David. These days they live in Keene, New Hampshire.

My first meeting with the family was at their Thanksgiving celebration. I was raised in foster homes, so Thanksgiving had always been hit-or-miss, but it was a big deal for the O'Hara clan. The patriarch, Patrick O'Hara, and his wife Sarah made sure all of their children were there at the family home in Tyngsborough, a suburb of Boston. It was a wonderful time, and though I got the third degree from Emily's parents and her older sister, I really enjoyed myself. As Emily walked me to my car late that Thanksgiving evening, she let me know I passed inspection.

"I hope that wasn't too difficult. My family can be a bit intense," she said.

"No, it was fine. I really had a good time. I think everyone liked me, but you know how poorly I read those things. Well, not sure about your sister's husband, Brad. He seemed a bit of a jerk."

"You did fine. Drive carefully. I love you."

"I love you too."

Two years after we married Caitlin was born. She was the spitting image of Emily and the apple of my eye. Thirty months later Sean Patrick came along. By the time he was 12 he was taller and more broad-shouldered than me, and he played lacrosse in high school. Emily decided to be a stay-at-home mom from Caitlin's birth until Sean Patrick went to preschool, and seemed to enjoy it. It allowed her time for involvement in church and community life, and she even turned her master's thesis into a book – which sold better than any of mine. I was so proud of her. She worked hard to get back into shape, and at times her self-esteem issues due to body image would come back to haunt her. Through hours in the gym and self-discipline in the kitchen, she not only returned to her pre-maternity shape, but looked even better.

Over the years my career required a lot of travel. Regularly back and forth from Boston to D.C – so much so that we have a condo in the Washington suburbs - and also to NYC, and Palo Alto, and occasionally to London. And several times a year to Tokyo and Seoul. Whenever it was possible Emily would come with me, especially the overseas trips. But between the kids and her job, that would not be all that often. Once a month, sometimes more, she would spend several days and drive up to see Shannon and Brad at their place in Nashua, New Hampshire. It was only 90 minutes or so from our place in Cambridge. And during the summer she would spend a couple of weeks at the lake house on Lake Winnipesaukee. Emily had talked me into partnering with Shannon and Brad to buy it a few years ago. I enjoyed it, but seldom got there. I particularly liked being there when it was just the four of us – without Emily's sister and husband.

Our marriage was wonderful. We were true partners: intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. If someone asked me the key to our happiness, I would have said it was trust and respect. I trusted Emily with my life. She was successful in her career, and we attended many social events together. Early on we promised that we would never do anything to embarrass each other in public, and we never did. Emily couldn't handle alcohol, and so she decided never to partake in public. I would drink a beer or a glass of wine at home, but never at a social event.

"Henry, we have to go to this dinner dance for the library foundation two weeks from Friday. I put it on your calendar, so I hope you can go."

"I saw it. It will be fine. But you do know that you will have to give me a refresher course in dancing if you are going to get me out on the floor."

"Sounds good to me. I love dancing with you. And you know, I will not dance with anyone else. It grosses me out to have any other man touch me."

"It grosses me out to have any other man touch you as well. And I won't ask anyone else to dance, because – well, you know."

"Yes. Carolyn in the President's office asked me once why you never dance with anyone but me, and I had to make up an excuse. I couldn't possible tell her that you get hard at the drop of a hat, and are embarrassed to let anyone know. Personally, I am glad that my middle-aged husband has no problem getting it up."

"Wait, is my prim and proper wife talking about my erection – and in the middle of the day, too. What would your parents think?"

For most of our marriage our sex life was okay – not great, just okay. There was no question I wanted sex more than my wife, both before and after the kids were born. I was ready every day, but once or twice a week was it for her. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy it. She said she did, she almost always had an orgasm or two, and she loved snuggling afterward. But typically she was rather passive. I could count on one hand the number of times a year she would initiate sex, she never wanted the light on, and she would never do it during the day. Since she would often make noise as she would come, she was always afraid the kids would hear. She would use her hand to get me hard, but almost never her mouth, and if she did suck me, it was only for a moment or two – and honestly, she wasn't very good. After all, she never had much practice. And we never had anal sex. And, the previous conversation to the contrary, she almost never talked about sex. She wouldn't tell me what she liked or enjoyed and she would never admit to any fantasies. I would tell her about mine, and she would just pass it off as if such things were too crude for her to even consider. I thought it must have been her conservative upbringing.

Which brings us to the present – well, about six weeks ago. It was early October. Caitlin was living in Paris working on her graduate degree in French Literature, and Sean Patrick is at Cornell, a charter member of the "academic major of the month" club. I think right now it is cultural anthropology. I better start putting more money away for retirement, because there is no way these kids are going to have the income to take care of me in my dotage. Anyway, the kids are out of the house. It was a Friday night, and I was particularly horny. The crisp weather of early autumn does that to me. Emily and I took a shower together – so I knew she was in the mood. She screamed through two orgasms I gave her with my mouth before I came in her pussy from behind.

"That was fantastic honey. I love the freedom we have when the kids are not here," Emily said.

"I love to hear you when you cum. It turns me on to know you are really enjoying it."

We snuggled for a few moments in the after glow, and then she surprised me with the kind of pillow talk we never have.

"Babe, if it were not morally wrong, and I gave you permission, which of my sisters would you like to have sex with?"

"Honey, I don't know if you know this, but there is a Husband's Manual, and a chapter in that book is titled "Questions men should never answer." The question you just asked is either number 1 or 2 – no man in his right mind would answer it. I think the other top question is 'Honey, if I died before you, who would you marry?'"

"Seriously. You always want to talk about fantasies, so I'm giving you permission to talk about them. Which one of my sisters have you fantasized about?"

"Okay. I'll answer – none of them."

"Don't give me that. You are telling me that if God and I gave you permission to have sex with Shannon, you wouldn't do it?"

"No I wouldn't. I just don't find her attractive. She wears too much makeup, and she doesn't have your great shape. The only shape she has are those breasts that miraculously appeared after her 35th birthday – which I'm sure cost Brad a pretty penny. Besides, Shannon can be a bitch."

"Okay, so no Shannon. How about Joanie or Denise?"

"No and no. They are just not my type. I consider Joanie a friend, and she's got a great brain, but is not sexy at all. Denise can be sexy, but I would feel the need to take an hour-long shower after just touching her. No thanks. I'm perfectly happy with the O'Hara sister I have – who is all mine. Now, if one of your sisters were Julia Roberts or Scarlett Johansson – then we could talk!"

"You have always had a thing for Julia Roberts. Why is that?"

"It's the laugh. I love her laugh. Let's see if I can make you laugh like her."

Then, for the first time, in a long time – we had a second round of play.

It was not more than a few days later when I overheard a telephone conversation. I was taking the dog on his nightly constitutional, but it started raining in torrents, so we finished early. I came in the back door, and heard my wife on her cell phone in the living room.

"Yeah Joanie, I tried. He is just not interested... No, of course not. I just asked him if he ever fantasized about having sex with any of my sisters... No, I didn't say that exactly. This is Saint Henry we are talking about. He never does anything that isn't appropriate... Listen, I have no idea why you want this to happen. He is just not that good, and he's sure not as big... My Henry wouldn't know if a woman was flirting with him if she threw her naked body in his lap. And he has no clue how to flirt. I don't know how he got me... Yes, four would be better than three, but this has worked so well for so long..."

What in the world? Think Henry, think. What was that all about? I can decipher the lunatic rantings of an evil, demented Korean madman, but I have no idea what my own wife is talking about.

A few days later I was walking through Davis Square in Somerville and I hear, "Henry – Henry Guardsman!" I turn around and see Matt Barnes, my sister-in-law Denise's first husband. "Bad News Barnes – how are you?" "Damn, Henry – I miss you calling me that. Got time for a beer?"

We ducked into a pub and caught up.

"Matt, I am so sorry it didn't work out for you and Denise."

"That's okay. It really wasn't meant to be. The marriage was long gone by the time you found out about it. I'm pretty sure all you heard was that I cheated on Denise, but she had cheated on me from the beginning."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know. Anyway, how's the plumbing contractor business. I hear your ads on the radio all the time – and see them on the T."

"It's good. And I've remarried. She's great. A school teacher in Malden. Two boys from her first marriage, and we've got a girl on the way."

"Congratulations."

We sat and each drank our Samuel Adams, and then Matt looked at me awkwardly.

"Henry, I have to ask you something. I like you, and I always considered you to be a pretty good guy, and I never felt like you looked down on me like that asshole Brad. Anyway – how do you deal with what Emily does with her sisters?"

Well Matt, I know they are close and all, so they talk all the time, and I just always thought that's how families are. I never had a family like that, so I didn't know."

"But, I mean, about the sex – how do you wrap your head around it? I sure couldn't."

"Matt, what are you talking about?"

"Oh shit! Henry – are you serious! You don't know? Denise told me you knew, and you were cool with it. She just told me not to talk to you, because you were afraid I would think you were a wimp or something. Really, you don't know?"

And then, for the next half-hour, Matt "Bad News" Barnes destroyed my life.

There was no question my marriage was over. However, I needed more information to decide what I was going to do. Divorce was a certainty. But I needed to know if Emily had ever loved me.

One phone call to colleagues in a certain three-letter government agency gave me the info I needed about equipment and how to attain it. I put listening devices on Emily's cell, in her purses, and in her car.

On the Thursday night the week before Thanksgiving I sat in the family room, watching the NFL game. After Emily went to bed, I went into the den, opened up the app that enabled me to listen to her calls, and heard both sides of a phone conversation between Emily and her sister Shannon.

"So Em, you are coming up to the lake this weekend to get things ready, right?"

"Yes, I'll be there." My wife's voice didn't sound happy or excited, but more like resigned.

"Have you done everything Brad said?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Listen, Em, this is important. You have to meet all his conditions."

"Alright, dear sister. I always do whatever Brad wants. I have only given Henry sex a few times a month. I have denied him a full blow job. I have never let him have my butt. Shannon, I can't believe this. Why does Brad have to be this way."

"Because he is an asshole, that's why. And you don't have it as bad as I do. I have stayed married to him all these years, with all his cheating and other fucked up ideas – mostly because of his great cock, but also to save YOUR marriage. If we don't do what Brad says, he will tell Henry everything. Don't forget that."

"I know Shannon, I know. What a hell this is. How did we ever let it get this far?"

"Emily, you know how. Your curiosity, big tits, and Brad's insatiable sexual appetite – that's how. It is what it is. So, here is the schedule. This Friday night Joanie and Will, Denise and David, and you are coming up to the lake to play. Sunday night, everyone else will go home, you'll stay and play with Brad, and then when Henry, Mom and Dad, and everyone else gets here the day before Thanksgiving, we will be the typical American family."

"Sure, okay."

"Cmon, Em - You know you love it."

"Sick, but yes, I do. When I'm there, it is really good. I love how I feel with Brad's massive meat pounding into me and treating me like his personal whore. But then when I come home, I realize what I have done. I am so ashamed."

"You should be ashamed. Henry doesn't deserve this. But you should have thought of that years ago."

"Damn you, Shannon. And damn me."

That confirms everything Bad News Barnes told me. My dear wife Emily has been having an affair with Brad, her sister's husband, for years. And her sister Shannon not only knows about it, but has condoned it. And Joanie and her husband Will, and Denise and her new husband David, are also part of this sick game. At the least, they have known that Emily has been cuckolding me.

But there are still some things I don't get. It sounds like Brad is holding something over Emily. Is it just about the affair, or is there more?

One thing you learn in my profession, is that people lie – but not many people are good at it. I didn't think Emily was – but she is sure better than I thought. She has been lying about our marriage for years. If I directly confront her with what I know, I would not likely get the answers. I also have no desire to have an in-your-face confrontation until I know everything.

Friday morning, the week before Thanksgiving, I woke up early and made breakfast for Emily and me.

"Hi Honey. When are you headed to the lake?"

"I'm driving into Boston today rather than taking the T, and leaving just after noon to go to Shannon's and then we will drive up to the lake together. If traffic is not horrible we should get there around 7 or so."

"Well, please drive carefully. I have a meeting on Monday and Tuesday in D.C., so since you are not going to be here I'll fly down tomorrow morning. I booked a flight from Reagan direct to Manchester on Wednesday night. Do you want me to rent a car or will you pick me up?"