February Sucks, But You'll Miss It

This is the final chapter of the "February Sucks, But You'll Miss It" series, which was a takeoff from George Anderson's "February Sucks". To understand it, please read the original and previous chapters in the series. George Anderson's story can be found here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/february-sucks

Thanks to all who read and commented on the earlier parts, and especially to those who gave helpful and encouraging remarks. Sorry this took so long to finish. If I write anything else for Literotica, it will not be a February Sucks knockoff, I promise. :-)

***

APRIL

Kandy was dressed in another schoolmarm outfit, black pantsuit and plain shoes, hair in a ponytail. She was taking notes at the kitchen table of my Camelott Inn fuckpad, peering at me through her spectacles. It was my second free "therapy" session with her, and I doubted that talking therapy really did any good. However, she talked me into it by promising a 20% discount on our next pussy appointment. There is the old saying "Never pass up a free piece of ass." I told myself the same principle applied to a discounted piece of ass.

"Please tell me a little more about your approach to Linda's infidelity. Last time you told me you were angry at first but then you somehow flipped a switch to make it a good thing. Like you're having it both ways, angry and happy over the same thing."

"Why is that so interesting to you?"

"I'm writing about it as part of my thesis. That's why we are doing this."

"You're writing about me?"

"Don't worry. I won't use your name, or anything that would identify you."

"What about the asshole?"

"Or him either. It will be a generalized scenario involving a married couple and a celebrity. And it strikes me that you seem to hold some special resentment for Marc LaVallierre. You use a special tone of voice when you refer to him as 'the asshole.' Is there a reason for that, other than the obvious?"

"Well, he did fuck my wife."

"Okay, sure, but what if some ordinary, average Joe had fucked your wife. Would you feel the same about him?"

I thought about this, and realized there was a difference. LaVallierre was special, and not just because he was famous.

"No, I would be pissed and probably call him an asshole, but it wouldn't feel the same. I saw it as soon as I laid eyes on him, like he had a red A stamped on his forehead."

Kandy looked a little bit puzzled, so I tried to explain. She didn't get it because she was never a boy. Some boys are born assholes and other boys know it, even as early as kindergarten. Some assholes grow out of it, but the ones who don't are the worst. That was LaVallierre. Kandy pressed on.

"So you resented it that Linda went with him."

"Of course."

"And when it was in the news that all those women slapped him, did that make you feel better?"

"Yeah, a little. It's great that he was beat up by a bunch of girls, but I don't think he has suffered enough. I would like to kick the shit out of him, but of course that will never happen."

"Getting back to your way of rolling with events, are you still happy that Linda opened your marriage up, even with what happened?"

"Absolutely. We wouldn't be here if she didn't."

"And how do you see this going forward. What do you want from life?"

"If Linda wants us to stay married, she will have to figure out how to do it. Here's my first priority in the meantime. Finish up the bucket list. College was fun, but there were are a few items that never came my way. I want every fuck I ever wanted to fuck, right fucking now, so when I take my last breath I didn't miss out on anything. Then I can die happy."

"Is there anything special you have always wanted to do?"

"Well, a couple of things-anal, for instance. I had it a couple of times before, but it was never that good. I always felt there must be a better ass fuck out there. Linda would never try it. Maybe she doesn't have the ass for it."

"Do I have the ass for it?"

"You have the perfect ass for it. Would my 20% discount apply to your ass?"

"Of course it would. And normally there is a surcharge for anal, because it takes some preparation and planning. For you, Jim, I will waive the anal surcharge."

I was liking this therapy arrangement more all the time. And truth be told, my bucket list wasn't all that long.

***

Lunch with Ronnie had gotten to be a semi-regular occurrence for Linda. They usually just went to the company cafeteria now, but today Ronnie said he wanted to get away from the office, so they went back to the Soup & Salad Joynt. Something was on his mind again. There were layoffs on the horizon so Linda supposed he wanted to vent about that. He got right to the point.

"The thing is, Linda, I have met someone special and we are thinking about being exclusive. It's a new experience for me and I'm not sure how to act or what I really want. Maybe you can advise me, since you and Jim seem to have such a great thing together."

Linda was taken aback. It was the last thing she had expected. She took a minute to reflect. It would not help Ronnie to admit that her marriage was on rocky ground, and she was hardly in a position to give out relationship advice. It had been so long since she was single that she could barely remember what it was like. And of course she had never been a gay man, but Ronnie needed to hear words of support. Wanting to do no harm, she decided that something non-specific was her safest approach.

"Well, Ronnie, all I can say is, try thinking with your heart, and not just your body. But whatever your heart decides, be sure your body agrees before you make a commitment."

Ronnie blinked and laughed a little. "Wow, Linda, you are a deep one. I think I even understood that!"

"I am no role model for anyone," Linda said. "I wouldn't want to see you get hurt. But sometimes you just have to chance it."

She felt that her words were lame, but Ronnie seemed to appreciate them.

"His name is Rolf," Ronnie said. "I would like you to meet him."

***

It was just a couple of days after the second talking therapy session that I had Kandy bent over the bed again. The lights were low in my suite and there was a scented candle burning on the kitchen table. Kandy claimed the candle wax was infused with yohimbine and lavender, which would have an aphrodisiac effect. She may have been right, since my cock was about as stiff as it had ever been, and I could practically picture the millions of swimmers wanting to work they way out of my balls and into the world. Maybe there was something psychedelic in the candle too.

Normally I like my sex partners to be buck naked, but for this occasion Kandy was wearing black lace stockings and a garter belt, no panties. This was her idea for an added turn on, and I had to admit that the sight of her spread open sex bordered in black was hot as hell. She was the expert.

"Uh, one question," I said. "What happened to the tattoo? Your name was right here." I whacked her ass cheek.

Kandy laughed. "Oh, that. It was a temporary tattoo, client request. You didn't notice it was gone last time?"

"Guess my mind was on other things."

She wiggled her ass. "I don't know about your mind, but I hope your head gets into the right place this time."

Her back door entrance was a nice shade of pink, just a little darker than the firm, fleshy globes that made the frame. The opening glistened with the lube I had slathered on. It looked good enough to eat, but I resisted the temptation and rolled a fresh condom onto my dick. Kandy's pussy was dripping and she was lazily stroking her clit and sighing with pleasure.

"You actually enjoy this, don't you?" I asked.

"Sure do," Kandy said. "It makes the job a lot easier if you like what you're doing."

Lining up with her spread cheeks, I placed my sheathed cockhead against her pucker. She made it contract a little, and it felt great already, just touching the opening.

"Now ease it in slow, Jim," she said. Following orders, I inched my shaft forward a half inch, then an inch.

"That's good, that's good," Kandy groaned, and she started to ripple her muscles in a compelling way, so that it felt as if her ass was sucking me into her depths. I hardly had to move at all. Soon I was all the way in, with my balls resting against her pussy. It was tight but comfortable, and I could have stayed in that position for a long time, at one with the universe, but Kandy had other ideas.

"Okay, Jim, now we can start the good part. Fuck me!"

I started moving my hips out and in, at first very slowly. The sight of Kandy's ass action was fascinating, the way her glutes undulated in time to my thrusts. And it was oh so very good and tight. Soon we were fucking away with abandon. We went faster and faster, with Kandy muttering words of encouragement. "Do it, Jimmy, fuck me!" After several groaning, ecstatic minutes, I was getting close when I felt something give. Now it felt even better, but...

"Oh shit, I think the rubber broke!"

"Never mind that, just fill me up, you bastard."

After a couple more minutes, my big load exploded into her depths, spurt after spurt, as she chanted, "Come, come for me, do it, come for me..."

I collapsed on top of her back, exhausted, grasping her tits for support. After a while my dick shrank and fell out of her ass. I stood up and looked. Sure enough, the condom was shredded. I pulled it off and showed it to Kandy. "Sorry about that," I said.

She smirked. "Ah, no worries. I think you're clean and I'm not going to get pregnant from that."

We both cleaned up and got dressed. Kandy was grinning at me. Her vibes were always good, raunch or no raunch. She was equally happy to do talking therapy or fucking therapy.

"You have done that before, haven't you?" It was a joke; I knew the answer.

"Anal? Well, duh. It's a good part of my business. Was it okay for you?"

"Okay? That was one for the ages. I'll remember that until my dying day."

"Well, good. I like a satisfied customer. Is there something else we can take off your bucket list?"

"At least one more thing," I said. Might as well get it while you can, I thought.

***

MAY

It got to be a pattern. Jim would spend at least two nights during the week at his "love nest". They didn't talk about what he was doing there, but Linda assumed he was having sex with his prostitute. She didn't like it but grew numb to it, knowing she had brought it on herself.

Linda would have liked to get back to physical intimacy with Jim, but there was none. After the first rebuffs she couldn't bring herself to reach out, and Jim appeared oblivious, not hostile, friendly but just not intimate as they had been before. She didn't know how to bridge the gap between them.

After a few weeks, Linda grew increasingly horny and subject to erotic fantasies, but the idea of having sex with any man other than Jim had become abhorrent. She was disgusted by the memory of her night with LaVallierre and felt the infection that followed was some kind of fitting punishment.

Still, her body wanted what it wanted, and she often found herself daydreaming of Jim's cock entering her in different ways. She looked to the internet and discovered there were countless websites offering advice to women who needed sexual release. Articles like "Girl, You Need That Orgasm!" gave lists of different methods and tools for self-gratification. How to stimulate your clit and tone your pussy muscles, how to get yourself off. Soon Linda was masturbating regularly, in the shower, in bed when Jim was asleep or away, sometimes even at work in her office with the door locked. The articles often recommended sex toys and woman-friendly porn. The old Linda would have balked at ordering such items online or going to adult stores or watching porn, but now she didn't hesitate. If Jim found out she was buying sex toys, so be it. She ordered a variety of dildos and lubes. She filled up her night stand and kept a small vibrator locked in her desk drawer at the office.

Linda tried out all of her new toys and found that some really did help her attain great orgasms. She slimmed down the collection, throwing away the items that didn't satisfy. Her favorite dildos were not too large or too small; they were just about Jim's size. For blowjob practice, she favored one Jim-sized silicone tool with balls. It had a suction cup she could attach to the wall, while another Jim-sized dildo with a clit tickler was lodged inside her pussy. The feeling was awesome, like she was being spit-roasted by two Jims. She had given Jim occasional blowjobs before but only as foreplay. Now she was learning to deep throat and ride the fake Jim, and loving it. It led to some earthshaking climaxes and surprised her that she could feel so good without a partner. She sometimes even asked herself if she needed the real Jim anymore, but of course her husband was more than just a cock.

***

JUNE

Nearing the end of her semester, Kandy showed me a draft of her thesis. The title was something like "Linear Thinking in the Post-modern American Male: Keeping Score and Settling Scores." I read the introduction and skimmed some of the rest. It was sort of a New Age take that men are linear and women are holistic. Men "keep score" more than women. Male tunnel vision versus female multitasking, Mars and Venus, that kind of thing. She pointed out the case study that covered me and Linda. True to her word, she had kept it so vague that it could have been about almost any sudden occurrence of a cheating wife.

According to her, my case was interesting because childhood traumas made me emotionally resilient in unexpected ways. I worked out mental habits that enabled me to convert defeat into victory, anger into affection, depression into happiness. It seemed like mostly psychobabble to me, but I had to admit that it had done me some good to talk things out with her, when we weren't fucking. And some of her thesis hit home.

Was I keeping score? You bet. I added things up to see where I stood. Since that sucky February night, I had notched my share of wins: lots of great sex with Kandy, including the anal fuck of a lifetime at a discounted price. There was also a very satisfactory threesome with Kandy and an associate she called Nona, who reminded me of my wife when she was younger. We did every possible combination: dueling blowjobs, I fucked Nona while she ate Kandy, I fucked Kandy while she ate Nona, and ate Nona while Kandy rode me. They left me exhausted and with a big credit card bill, but it was one more check off my list. Going forward, I would keep a running mental tab of my scores. These were not wins against Linda; these were victories over all the other men in the world, past and present.

"All right, just call me linear," I told Kandy. She laughed when I whacked her butt, then gave me a last free blowjob for helping with her thesis before we said goodbye. It was the end of therapy, both kinds.

***

LATER IN JUNE

I kept an old laptop in my fuckpad, so I could surf the news during my lunch hours, then I would usually take a walk. The Camelott Inn was on the same street as my office building. I would usually walk farther down the street where there were some used book shops and junk stores to browse. One day I decided to circle around the block to the next street over, Gaunt Street.

There was a new restaurant that had valet parking. The place was unfamiliar to me. "Gino's" was a steak and lobster joint with a sports theme. It looked pretty posh. A tall blond guy was just getting out of a shiny orange Stingray at the front entrance. It was Marc LaVallierre. The valets took his car around the back and he went inside.

Curious, I walked to the end of the block and took a left. At the alley I looked back toward the restaurant. I could just see a glint of the orange Stingray at the edge of the parking lot. I strolled down the alley, trying to look casual. LaVallierre's car was right there at the back edge of the lot with a couple of other expensive cars. Maybe that was their VIP parking. More ordinary cars were parked close together in the middle of the lot. There were a couple of surveillance cameras. The lot was separated from the alley by a low concrete wall topped by a chain link fence. The front of the Corvette was right there, and I could read the license plate: "MARC 02".

I walked on by, thinking about it. Before going back to my office, I stopped into a thrift store and found an old Mackerels sweatshirt and a matching cap. Both items were stained and ugly, and it was half-off Tuesday so they cost me less than ten bucks. At a nearby dollar store, I bought some cheap sunglasses and a fake mustache. It was good to be prepared. Back at the Camelott Inn I did a websearch on Gino's and found that LaVallierre was a part owner and often ate there. My lunch hour had gone a little long, so I worked late that day.

***

The next day I put on my disguise and walked by Gino's. I didn't see LaVallierre going in, but when I walked down the alley there was a black Escalade with a license plate "MARC 03". I just walked by, noticing that the chain link fence had a gate into the alley. It was padlocked.

I went back to the Camelott Inn and thought about it. LaVallierre had at least two cars he drove to Gino's. If he kept coming, I could figure out a way to fuck up one or both of those cars, but wasn't sure it would be worth it. A Stingray and an Escalade, big deal. Local dealers probably let him have them for free, new ones every year. I needed something better than a General Motors product to exorcise my hatred. I decided to continue surveillance of Gino's to see what developed. The next day there was no car in LaVallierre's spot. But the day after that, I got lucky.

***

It was a hot day even for June, and I drank two beers with my sandwich at the Inn. I was a little drowsy and almost decided not to bother with Gino's, but something told me to persevere. I put on my disguise and walked over to the restaurant, just in time to see LaVallierre getting out of a car I had not seen before. It was a metallic blue sports car, really exotic. By the time I walked around to the alley the blue car was parked in LaVallierre's spot. The plate read "MARC ONE". I didn't know much about luxury cars, but even I could recognize this was too elegant to be a dealer freebee. The logo on the hood said it was a Ferrari. Best of all, it was a convertible with the top off and the windows down. I knew what I wanted to do, but the fence was in the way and climbing it would be a pain. I went over to the gate and looked at the padlock. It was a cheap one, old and rusty. I jerked on it and the hasp came apart. Soon I was standing next to the driver's door of the asshole's Ferrari.

My bladder was full from the beer and I knew this would be a good, hard one. I took out my cock and started pissing. First I sprayed the rich black leather of the driver's seat. It had that new leather smell and now it would have an additional fragrance. I directed my stream to the steering wheel and the dashboard and the floor. The speedometer and display screen got special attention. My flow was strong enough to drench the passenger seat and center console. Those MeToo women may have slapped the guy, but none of them could accurately piss standing up. The dick has its uses. Few things in life feel better than a good strong whiz when you need to go, and I would have enjoyed this sensation even without the added thrill of defiling Mister Asshole's prize vehicle. Mark my woman, and I'll mark your fuckin' Ferrari! I was starting on a second treatment of the driver's seat upholstery when I heard a shout.

"Hey, pissant! Get away from my car!"

Apparently the surveillance cameras did work. Marc LaVallierre was halfway across the parking lot, closing in fast. There was nowhere to run. I knew he would soon be on me, so decided to finish the job at hand. It might be my last act in this lifetime and it needed to be thorough. Resigned to the coming pain, I did my best to soak the driver's side headrest. The big bastard was only ten feet away from me when he seemed to trip over his own feet and fall to the ground. He grabbed his knees and started groaning, "Oh shit, oh fuck, god that hurts!"