I Should Have Walked Away

Anonymous won't care for this story very much. What a shame... It's about a patient man trying to hold his marriage together when increasingly he seems to be the only one in the marriage.

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Some lessons you learn by watching others and some you just learn the hard way. This is the story of how I learned my lesson the very hard way.

I screwed up in so many ways. I knew this was true the day I got out and my good friend picked me up at the gate. "Come on, buddy, the beer is on me. You must be thirsty." If I had just gone to see him that fateful night, if I'd just turned around, walked away, and divorced the bitch, these past seven years would have been very different.

My name is John Edward MacKenzie. My parents call me Johnny. When I was a teenager, my teachers and coaches started calling me Johnny Mac. When I went to work, it became just Mac. That's where it stands today. Everyone except my parents just call me Mac.

There are two things you need to know about me. The first is that I'm a pretty big guy. I'm an even 6 feet tall and I keep myself in pretty good shape. I have a low-energy job, so I visit the gym a few days each week. People meet me and they just assume that I played football in school. I hate football. Football is moronic! Here is the game of football in a nutshell: line up, snap the ball, run into the guy in front of you... line up, snap the ball, run into the guy in front of you... line up... Well, you get the idea. I didn't play it. I don't watch it. Football is stupid.

Here's the second thing you need to know: all my life I was the guy who didn't get mad. I kept my cool no matter what was happening. My wife, on the other hand, had a nasty temper. She didn't discuss, she fought. She'd say anything, do anything, to win the most insignificant disagreement and get her way. She was manipulative, vindictive, and a lying skank; but I'm getting ahead of myself. The only good thing I can say about her is, "Thank God the divorce was final seven years ago."

I met Dolores a few years out of school. Everyone called her Dory, like the boat. I had a good job working in a manufacturing plant that made brushes. I kid you not. We made tooth brushes, clothing brushes, those fist-size brushes you use to clean pots in the sink, and some really nice wooden handled brushes that were sold in woodworking supply shops. It wasn't high tech, but I made good money doing it and my nights and weekends were my own. I was happy.

Dory was incredible in the sack. She believed in the third-date rule, but I didn't know that until I took her home at the end of our third date. She tried to kill me with sex. I almost dialed 9-1-1 to report an "assault with a dangerous pussy". I slept very well that night and the next morning she accosted me again. After that, we were a couple. We got together every few days and all weekend long. We went everywhere together and it wasn't long before I popped the question.

There's a lesson for you that I learned the hard way and you can learn from my mistake. Don't rush into marriage. It takes a long, long time to really know a person and I didn't take nearly long enough. I married this loving, devoted woman who was eager to give me sex all the time and pretty soon after I said, "I do." we didn't. I exaggerate, but not a lot. The sex was good for about a year, maybe eighteen months, and the marriage was good, too. We got along great. She laughed at my bad jokes and we enjoyed being together. Then, slowly, all the good things started falling off. She was a little less pleased with me. Sex became a bit less frequent, and then downright rare. Every day or two became every week or two if I was lucky and less if she was in a bad mood which was happening more all the time. When we did have sex, it felt more like a mercy fuck to keep me manageable. As the good things fell off, the bad things piled on. The credit card bills got bigger. She worked later, went out with her girlfriends more, and was tired at night. She wanted dinner delivered where we used to cook together. I knew that reality would settle in eventually, but this was not a reality I relished.

All the while I kept my cool. I tried to talk with Dory about our lives, tried to put some spark into our evenings and weekends; I even suggested we go away for a little vacation. I got nowhere. If she didn't like the conversation, it became an argument. If the argument continued, the punishment would start. I knew where this was headed and I tried to make her understand, but she was having none of it. She knew what she wanted and that is the way it would be. What I couldn't understand was "Why?"

What happened next should have taught me that keeping it in wasn't going to work. Dory started bringing her girlfriends home from work and inviting them for dinner. These were the nights when she didn't go out with them. Dinner meant I had to buy for five (me, my wife, and the three bitches) because she was too busy visiting with her friends to cook. Whenever I walked into the room, I was asked to go someplace, do this, or get that. It became abundantly clear that I was not welcome.

I was sitting in the spare bedroom reading one night when I heard her friend Betty say, "My God, he's such a wimp! How can you stand it?"

Dory laughed, "Are you kidding? He does whatever I say. He'll put up with anything. Damn, I could fuck George right here in the living room and he wouldn't even raise his voice!"

I couldn't believe my ears. First of all, those bitches can all go fuck themselves! And second, who the hell is George?

Look, guys who keep their cool are not guys without emotions and I'm no wimp. Let's make that clear! I feel everything that every hot-headed asshole feels. I just don't want to create more problems that require more fixing. I figure two people who mean well can find the middle ground and solve their problems. But, it was becoming increasingly clear to me that the only middle ground between those bitches and me was them kneeling at my feet and begging me not to throw them out bodily. Dory would not be far behind.

Maybe I am a wimp. I just sat there and weighed my options. I didn't run in. I didn't confront them all. I didn't kick their collective asses out the door. I didn't push my wife into a chair and yell at her until she shrinks into the cushion. I just sat there and wondered what happened to that wonderful woman I married? I couldn't find her anywhere. It felt like we were headed for the end.

Eventually, the bitches left. I mean, all the bitches left except for my own personal bitch. She poked her head into the room and announced that she was going to bed. When I walked out into the living room I found empty wine glasses and snack bowls that needed to be put in the sink. Yeah, maybe I am a wimp, but I was tired of being disrespected. I'll be patient and think it through, but the situation had to change.

The next night I sat her down. "Dory, we need to talk! I am tired of being disrespected by you and your snarling friends. You ignore me at night. You and your friends talk smack behind my back. I'm your husband, not some whipping boy. This is not going to continue. We need to make some changes or we aren't going to make it."

The bitch laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. It was just talk. Nobody meant anything by it."

"Who's George?" I asked.

That got her. She blanched, but she came back swinging. "What do you mean who's George?"

"You mentioned George last night. Who's George?"

"What are you accusing me of? Do you think I'm cheating on you? Are you accusing me of something?"

"I'm asking you, `Who's George?'"

"I am not going to be interrogated! I'm your wife, damn it, and if you think you can accuse me of cheating on you, then you can just sleep in the guest room tonight and every night until you change your tune!" Dory steamed off to bed and I heard the bedroom door slam.

I sat there thinking about that eruption and the thought that kept running through my mind was that I asked, "Who's George?" and her reply was, "Do you think I'm cheating on you?" That's not an answer to the question, or is it? I never accused her of cheating. I never mentioned her comment to the bitches about how she could fuck George in the living room and I wouldn't even raise my voice. I only asked pointedly, "Who's George?"

Winter came early in our home that year. For the next week there were evenings we didn't even say two words to each other. She shopped Saturday and she got together with the bitches on Sunday. Eventually, the thaw came and I was invited back into our bedroom, but it was far from a honeymoon.

The beginning of the end came three months after I overheard the remark about George. The company was sending me to Ohio where they have a plant that was having problems. I had gained something of a reputation for being Mr. Fixit and they needed some fixing, so off I went to Ohio. I called Dory every night and she always answered. The calls were brief and I wouldn't say I looked forward to them, but we were functioning at some minimal level.

The fix was in (I've always wanted to say that) and I was headed home. Truth be told, I surprised myself. We got the plant up and running faster than I anticipated and I was headed home early.

So, you know what's coming, right? I didn't. If I had, things might have turned out differently.

I walked in my front door at about 10:00 at night. Dory's car was in the driveway. The lights were out. A man's and a woman's clothing were lying on the living room floor and I heard voices in the bedroom. One listen and I knew what was happening. You can't mistake that sound for anything else. My anger was growing by the second. I picked up the man's pants and I opened his wallet. The driver's license read, "George Noble". If ever a man was misnamed, it had to be Mr. Noble. There is never anything noble about fucking another man's wife!

I don't keep a gun in the house, but I do keep an old-fashioned wooden baseball bat by the door. I have them for home defense and as a nod to my childhood. I grabbed the bat and headed for the bedroom. Walking down the hallway I heard the moaning and grunting. My wife is calling out, "Oh, George, yes! Fuck me! Oh God, yes! Oh, fuck! George! Faster! Fuuuck!"

I walked quietly down the hallway. As I opened the bedroom door, I saw that hairy ass driving his dick into my cheating slut with her ankles over his shoulders.

"You need this, don't you babe? Tell me you can't live without this. Swear to me! He can't fuck you like I do!"

"Yes! I swear! Oh, God, I swear!"

"You need this big cock of mine, don't you? Tell me!"

"Yes! Oh, fuck yes! Do it for me, George. That's what I need!"

"How can you stand that wimp with his little dick? Divorce him, Dory. I'll take care of you. I'll give you what you need."

I told you when I started this story that some lessons you learn by watching others and some you learn the hard way. Here is the lesson I learned the hard way that night: when you are filled with rage, you don't have the muscle control that you think you have. Okay, that's sarcasm. What I really learned is that revenge isn't worth it. It's best to just walk away and get a divorce. I'd spent my life controlling my temper. When I finally let it out, I paid a hefty price.

They didn't know I was there. I walked up behind him and I took a breath. I swung the bat over my head and brought it down hard. I thought I'd knock the wind out of him; at the worst I'd break a rib or two. As God is my witness, I never meant to do more than break a few ribs. I severed his spine just above the waist.

You'd think he would have screamed. He just let out a gasp and collapsed onto my wife. Her legs slipped off his shoulders. She had no idea what happened. Then the Dory I knew came out: "That's it? Give a girl some warning, would you? Don't just quit on me - finish me, damn it!"

That's when she saw me with the bat in my hands and madness in my eyes. She screamed and shook George, but he didn't respond. George was done.

The rest is history. I was arrested, charged with assault, prosecuted, convicted, and given seven to fifteen years. I served seven. There were divorced men and women on the jury with cheating spouses. I swear I almost got off.

My boss gave me my old job back when I got out. He understood. On my first day back he said to me, "Mac, I'm surprised you didn't do it sooner. She was an awful bitch and all her friends were bitches. Welcome back. Now, forget her and get on with your life."

I know you're asking, "What happened to Dory?" Nothing happened to Dory. We divorced and I was glad for it. She took everything that I didn't use to pay my lawyer and left. I was fine with that. I didn't want anything that had been tainted by that bitch; and where I was going, I didn't need the living room furniture. When I got out, I started over. The only good thing was that she was out of my life and the future looked better than it had for a very long time.

Revenge is a fiction. I learned that the hard way. All you ever really get is your freedom and I paid a big price for mine. I lost seven years of my life behind bars and three years before that living with evil incarnate. If only I had turned around, walked away, and just divorced the bitch, I would have been better off.

I do think of George from time to time, usually when I'm walking up a flight of stairs, and I wonder if he's enjoying his wheels? Tough break, George, but that's what you get for fucking another man's wife.

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When I was writing this, I walked up to a local police officer, told him I was writing this story, and asked what the sentence would be. When he finally finished laughing, he said, "Seven to fifteen, depending on the prosecutor." I said, "Darn. I was hoping to get him off with less." I left the officer laughing in his patrol car.