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&quot;Dad? What are you doing here?&quot;<br /> My son&#039;s surprised and confused, but not concerned, because he has a small smile on his face.<br /> I quickly come up with a lie, something I&#039;ve gotten good at.<br /> &quot;I... I dropped by your place to see you on my break, but you weren&#039;t home. Katherine let me in.&quot;<br /> He&#039;s a police officer, but not a good detective. <br /> Because he doesn&#039;t find out that his father is cheating on him with his girlfriend.<br /> ————————<br /> I stare out of the window at the heavy snow that&#039;s falling as I button up my vest. Thanksgiving was only a week ago and we&#039;re already getting snow. It&#039;s going to be a long winter, I&#039;m sure, and I dread it. I hate the cold and love the heat. But I&#039;ve got to go back out in it soon.<br /> I pull my suit jacket on, then my pea coat, and stare at her as I button it.<br /> Something is wrong.<br /> Something is definitely wrong. I can tell, it&#039;s always so easy to tell with her, and she&#039;s been acting off these last couple of days. Right now she&#039;s zoned out and doesn&#039;t even realize that I&#039;m staring at her.<br /> &quot;Are you okay?&quot;<br /> Now she looks at me quickly, I see how red her eyes are, and she wipes at them before any tears can fall.<br /> &quot;I&#039;m okay, just tired, that&#039;s all.&quot;<br /> She&#039;s lying. It&#039;s hard to see her this way, I can&#039;t hardly bear it, and close my eyes tightly. A moment later I sit down beside of her on the couch, place my hand on her thigh, and stare into her eyes. She doesn&#039;t want to look at me but I grab her chin with my free hand and make her.<br /> &quot;You&#039;re not okay. What&#039;s wrong?&quot;<br /> The tips of my fingers are resting in the cool, sticky come that I left between her legs not even fifteen minutes ago. But I pay no mind to it.<br /> &quot;I&#039;m okay, really.&quot;<br /> &quot;Talk to me, please.&quot;<br /> She stands, grabs her sweatpants from the floor, and pulls them on as she walks away from me. I rest my face against my hands for a moment, sigh, and slowly rub at my eyes. What do I do? I don&#039;t even know what&#039;s wrong, so how can I fix it?<br /> I find her in the kitchen smoking and turning on a pot of coffee.<br /> &quot;He&#039;ll be here soon, Michael. You should go.&quot;<br /> &quot;I want you to talk to me.&quot;<br /> &quot;There&#039;s nothing to talk about. He will literally be here in a half an hour.&quot;<br /> I suddenly feel extremely aggravated. I know I&#039;ve got a long night of work ahead of me, surely, and I won&#039;t be able to concentrate if I think something&#039;s wrong with her.<br /> &quot;I don&#039;t care.&quot;<br /> She doesn&#039;t respond to that, but I&#039;m serious. I don&#039;t care anymore. Let him catch me here, let him find out what we&#039;ve been doing, it&#039;s time for that to happen, anyway. She&#039;s done enough for him and it&#039;s time to give it all up. I&#039;m ready. She should be too.<br /> &quot;Talk to me.&quot;<br /> When she says nothing again I start toward her. That gets her attention, she slowly backs away from me, but stops when she corners herself in against the cabinets.<br /> &quot;Please, Michael... he&#039;ll be here soon.&quot;<br /> &quot;I don&#039;t care.&quot;<br /> She pushes at my shoulders when I reach her, but I&#039;m too strong. I slide my hand across her shoulder, up her throat, and stop at her chin. As I run my thumb across her bottom lip she shudders and the shaking of her body worsens. I focus on her mouth, on the jagged breathing, and am reminded of our bang from not even a half hour ago. She always makes the softest sounds, I have always likened them to purring, like a little kitten that&#039;s being stroked just right. Her black hair is still tousled and wavy, something she has referred to jokingly as her &quot;hair.&quot;<br /> Not even an hour ago she was purring because my tongue and my shaft were stroking her in that perfect way that she likes. But whether it&#039;s my fingers, my tongue, or my shaft, in the end, she always comes.<br /> And now she is crying and won&#039;t even look at me.<br /> &quot;Look at me.&quot;<br /> &quot;I can&#039;t...&quot;<br /> I make her, stare into her doe eyes, then peck her hard. She cries quietly, but I ignore the sound, and slip my tongue between her lips. Her mouth is welcoming the way it always is, she wants me despite the way she&#039;s acting, I can tell.<br /> Does she want this to be over? She&#039;s been acting this way on and off for the last week or so and she&#039;s not really talking to me, we always talk about whatever is on her mind. I know part of it is Maxwell, the guilt she feels over staying with him, but at the same time wanting to leave him. It&#039;s too much for her to deal with, she&#039;s taking on all his nonsense and his feelings and she shouldn&#039;t have to, especially after...<br /> I push these thoughts away quickly, grab the sides of her head, and rest my forehead against hers.<br /> &quot;I love you, Katherine. God, I love you.&quot;<br /> She shoves her tongue into my mouth and pecks me back.<br /> &quot;Tell me you love me, please.&quot;<br /> &quot;I love you.&quot;<br /> She doesn&#039;t push me away again as I pull her to the floor. In fact, she helps me with my tie and the buttons on my vest as I remove the holster from my chest. I want to hurt her for doing this, for even making me think that I could be what&#039;s so upsetting for her, for not talking to me. The welcoming wetness between her legs that I plunge into and the soft moans that come from her are enough for me to know I&#039;m not why she&#039;s acting this way.<br /> I call her a good little girl, command her to come for me, and bang her just the way she likes. I&#039;ve learned her body just as she has learned mine, she&#039;s so easy to please, and so am I. Her body alone is enough for me, she has to do little to get me there, and I hold her down against the floor with force...<br /> After we&#039;ve both come and put our clothes back on, the door is opening. He doesn&#039;t even knock. It prompts me to fumble with getting my belt buckled as I hurry across the kitchen and away from her. I run my hands through my hair, clear my throat, and try to ignore the aching feeling of almost being caught in my stomach. She throws my coat at me suddenly and I catch it right before he comes into the kitchen.<br /> &quot;Dad? What are you doing here?&quot;<br /> He&#039;s surprised and confused, but not concerned, because he has a small smile on his face. I quickly come up with a lie, something I&#039;ve gotten good at.<br /> &quot;I... I dropped by your place to see you on my break, but you weren&#039;t home. So I thought you might be here. Katherine let me in.&quot;<br /> He&#039;s in his police uniform, hat and all, I&#039;m reminded of myself nearly thirty years ago when I was nothing more than a beat cop. He has the same aspirations I had, but I&#039;m not sure he would make a good detective anymore. I always thought he would, but he hasn&#039;t been able to figure out what&#039;s been going on right under his nose. Just like me being here, alone with his girlfriend in her apartment, when we had no plans to get together.<br /> She walks past me to him slowly, he sets down the papers bags of groceries he has in his arms, wraps an arm around her waist, and he pecks her hair. My stomach tightens and the temperature of my blood and skin changes. I&#039;m still slightly hot from our quickie and the sight of them only makes it worse. But she staring at me and her eyes are a dead giveaway that she doesn&#039;t want him to touch her.<br /> &quot;Well, I&#039;m here now,&quot; he says and pecks her hair again. &quot;Do you want to stay for dinner? Or do you have to get back? We&#039;re having lemon chicken tonight. Kathy&#039;s specialty.&quot;<br /> He pecks her once more and I want to say that I know it&#039;s her specialty. We&#039;ve eaten it together more than once, undressed, in her bedroom. And I think of how much I hate that he always calls her Kathy. Katherine is so much more fitting.<br /> &quot;I don&#039;t think I can tonight. I need to get back.&quot;<br /> &quot;You&#039;re sure? It&#039;s delicious, I&#039;m telling you. You should stay.&quot;<br /> &quot;Max, he said he can&#039;t, so he can&#039;t.&quot;<br /> She stands almost right between us now and begins to take things out of the grocery bags. He&#039;s confused by her snappy comment and half smiles at me, but I focus on her. She&#039;s on the verge of tears again and I don&#039;t want to leave her like this, even if I can&#039;t do anything about it now.<br /> &quot;I&#039;ll stay,&quot; I say and glance at my watch. &quot;Here. Let me help you, Katherine.&quot;<br /> I touch her hand on purpose as I reach into one of the bags, she tightly closes her eyes, and moves away from me to the fridge. The urge to grab her and hold her is overwhelming.<br /> &quot;I can do it, dad. Go sit down. Make yourself comfortable.&quot;<br /> I go without a word, sit in an arm chair, tilt my head back, and close my eyes.<br /> &quot;Here.&quot;<br /> I look quickly and take a beverage from his hand, he sits on the couch across from me, and I take a slow sip. All I can really think about is how many times Katherine has blown me and slept with me on that couch. It makes me shift uncomfortably, but the thoughts don&#039;t really stop. They&#039;re intrusive and unbelievably arousing, but I do my best to take control over my shaft.<br /> &quot;I&#039;m going to ask her to move in with me.&quot;<br /> I stare at him closely for a moment, try to think of a way to respond to that, and want to tell him he shouldn&#039;t do that. They&#039;ve been together a little longer than we&#039;ve been banging. Even if I wasn&#039;t sleeping with his girlfriend, six months isn&#039;t long enough to get to know someone well enough to ask them to move in with you.<br /> You hypocrite, I think to myself quickly. You&#039;re ready to throw away your marriage, your relationship with your kids, your reputation, all for her...<br /> &quot;You think that&#039;s a good idea?&quot;<br /> I can&#039;t help myself. He nods as if he&#039;s very sure it&#039;s the right thing to do. I know it isn&#039;t, because I know her, and I know she&#039;ll say no. He&#039;s said it quiet enough that she can&#039;t hear him, but I can see her in the kitchen.<br /> &quot;Yeah, I think so. We&#039;re doing really good now after... well , we&#039;re doing really good, dad.&quot;<br /> I stare at him again and he looks away, not wanting to meet my eyes. He&#039;s embarrassed still and he should be. And blind. They&#039;re doing good? She&#039;s been cheating on him for months, she can barely look at him anymore after what he did, and he didn&#039;t even notice she was about to cry when we were all in the kitchen.<br /> I stare at her again. The way she&#039;s standing let&#039;s me see her profile and I think for the millionth time just how beautiful she is. Even with a messy bun, even after two rounds of love, she looks absolutely perfect. I love her little bun look and I love her in sweatpants and oversized t-shirts. He&#039;s lucky to even be in her presence as often as he is and he doesn&#039;t know it.<br /> &quot;If you think it&#039;s the right thing...&quot;<br /> &quot;I really do.&quot;<br /> Maybe that&#039;ll speed up her leaving him or maybe he&#039;ll be the one to end it when she tells him no. I almost want to laugh at myself. He&#039;s not going anywhere by his own choice, not with all she&#039;s done for him, not with how perfect she is, how beautiful and wonderful and how she&#039;s everything you could ever want in a woman.<br /> &quot;How&#039;s mom?&quot;<br /> &quot;She&#039;s good. Busy with Trish. They&#039;re always fighting,&quot; I mutter. &quot;You know how they are.&quot;<br /> He smiles warmly.<br /> &quot;She&#039;ll grow out of that.&quot;<br /> &quot;I&#039;ve been told.&quot;<br /> By Katherine. I almost smile, but force myself not to.<br /> &quot;How&#039;s work been? Any progress on your case?&quot;<br /> I shrug my shoulders.<br /> &quot;Not really much.&quot;<br /> We continue to make small talk. It&#039;s not something we used to do, but our relationship has shifted somewhat into different territory. I can&#039;t look at him the same for a number of reasons. But thankfully Katherine is quick to finish dinner.<br /> She sits at one end, Maxwell is across from her, and I&#039;m at the side, but I sit closer to her. He doesn&#039;t say anything, because if he did I&#039;d play it off and pretend like I hadn&#039;t realized.<br /> But I urge him to drink, repeatedly filling his glass with spirits, and she says nothing to try to stop me. She knows exactly what I&#039;m trying to do. I just can&#039;t bear to leave without at least talking to her first and I can&#039;t do that with him being lucid. Luckily he&#039;s a lightweight, we both know that.<br /> A couple of hours later he is stumbling around the place and I help him into the bedroom as he mumbles that he&#039;s fine to drive himself home. As I take off his jacket, tie, and shoes I am reminded of when he was a child. I would undress him the same way after a long day of play, before his baths.<br /> The image is almost enough to bring tears to my eyes and I stare down at him as he sleeps soundly.<br /> I&#039;ve raised this boy since he was two years old, he has always called me dad, always thought of me as his dad. I patched his skinned knees, took him to all of his docotrs appointments, all of his soccer, football, and baseball games, taught him how to ride a bike, how to swim, how to ask a girl out...<br /> All of those things should be enough to make me stop.<br /> But I know in my heart that it isn&#039;t enough to stop me. Nothing could ever make me want to stop, not my wife or son or anyone else. There isn&#039;t any outside force strong enough to keep me from her.<br /> I linger at the door, watching him closely, and when I&#039;m satisfied I close it behind me. When I make it to the end of the hallway I stop and stare across the apartment at her. She&#039;s standing at the windows in the living room with her back to me and smokes.<br /> &quot;Is he asleep?&quot;<br /> I can tell by the way her voice sounds that she&#039;s been crying and I start slowly toward her.<br /> &quot;Yes.&quot;<br /> &quot;That&#039;s good.&quot;<br /> When I reach her I place my hands on her shoulders, rest my forehead against the back of her head, and peck her hair a moment later. She&#039;s shaking.<br /> Tears slip slowly down her cheeks and she doesn&#039;t bother to wipe them away. It breaks my heart.<br /> &quot;I can&#039;t do this anymore,&quot; she sobs quietly. &quot;I can&#039;t do it anymore.&quot;<br /> I shush her and pull her against my chest quickly. She continues to sob, clutches at my back, and I bury my face in her hair.<br /> &quot;It&#039;s okay. Hey, it&#039;s okay, baby. Just talk to me. Come on.&quot;<br /> I walk her to the couch slowly, sit her down, and she finally spills it all. It&#039;s Maxwell, as I had suspected, and I try to offer whatever comfort I can give to her. But I&#039;m not giving too much, she needs to realize she shouldn&#039;t be with anymore, and she needs to be with me.<br /> &quot;... I want to stop and be with you, Michael. I just can&#039;t do it anymore.&quot;<br /> I stare at her, hope I&#039;ve heard her correctly, and take a deep breath.<br /> &quot;You want to? You&#039;re ready?&quot;<br /> &quot;Yes. I am. I... I love you. I shouldn&#039;t have been doing this for so long, I should have left as soon as he... I should have left. And I didn&#039;t and I&#039;m sorry.&quot;<br /> I disregard her apology because it doesn&#039;t matter.

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