Confronted yet again with evidence, this time far more incontrovertible than before, Drew sought out the counsel of his old high school pal and college roommate, Dr. Doug Loomis.
Meeting at a bar several blocks from Doug’s practice, the two drank their first beers in near silence before Doug finally broke the ice.
“From what you told me on the phone, it does sound like you’re right about her screwing around. So what did you want to talk to me for? It’s not with me if that’s what you’re worried about.” He raised in hands in a gesture of mock innocence.
“Yeah, the long work nights, the soiled clothes in the hamper, the weekend work trips, the constant surreptitious text messaging. It all adds up. On top of that, my sex life has dwindled to virtually nothing, though when we do it, which is rare, I have to wear a condom as she’s gone off birth control because, in theory, we’re going to try to have a baby. Based on the underwear she keeps burying at the bottom of the hamper each night, I’m apparently the only one using a condom.”
Doug took a drink. “So you don’t think it’s me, right?”
Drew shook his head and stared into his empty beer glass. The pleasant sandalwood notes of Doug's cologne drifted across the table. “I’m not saying that. It’s just that...I remember when we were in college and you used to get a lot of action. And from what I’ve overheard around town, that hasn’t changed. What I’m wondering is, have you ever been the ‘other guy’? Like, maybe you can tell me why a married woman would step out.”
Doug flashed his megawatt smile. “I get it. Wondering why Caitlyn might do it, huh? Look, I’m sorry about that, but I might be able to provide a bit of insight. Yeah, I’ve been the other guy. Shit, these days I’m always the other guy…”
“Wait, seriously?” Drew’s jaw dropped.
Pushing his wavy blonde hair back on his head, Doug continued. “Come on. You must have heard that if you’ve heard rumors about me. Yes, I exclusively do married women.”
“But why? You could pull any girl out there? Why settle for taken ones?”
“Drew, buddy, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not settling. Married chicks are the best. All of the upsides and none of the down. They are rarely needy. They don't expect much out of you. You get to fuck ‘em and shoo them out. Oh, and in almost every case you can come in them without worries.”
“But what about STDs or pregnancy?” The words escaped Drew's mouth before it dawned on him that he may not like the answer.
“Sure, it's a risk. I once had a soccer mom give me crabs that I passed on to a regular fuck buddy. She had to tell her husband he must have gotten them from a stripper. That was definitely no fun, though that would have happened even with a rubber. Besides, half the women in town got that case of crabs last summer.”
Drew's mind was drawn back to finding a medicated shampoo in his wife's bathroom the year before. She told him it was prescribed for split ends, but a Google search said otherwise.
Doug continued. “As far as pregnancy, that is the point of fucking, right? It's also the best part of married women. How hot is it, knocking a woman up? The massive downside is that whole kid-raising thing. This way, I get the hot procreative sex and some other guy has to deal with dirty diapers and paying for braces. Speaking of which, those costly fuckers paid for my Porsche. If I had known back as a pre-dentistry that my hard work would result in piles of cash and a steady supply of eager mommy pussy, I would have studied a lot harder...if you know what I mean.”
Drew shook off the immediate anger that swept through him. “But why do they do it? Risk their families for a quick roll in the hay.”
Doug signalled the barman for two more beers. “Women are sexual creatures. Remember when you were twenty and would have stood in traffic if you thought it would get you laid? Well, you were at your sexual peak. For women, it starts in their thirties. It's right when their husbands start thinking more about gardening and retirement plans. That newfound drive combines with a loudly ticking biological clock. It's a cruel trick of mother nature. A couple these days spends a decade building a comfortable nest and by the time they feel prepped and ready to populate it, the guy's mating impulse in the relationship has passed. And then it's on another to step in and finish the job.
“I don't feel too bad for these guys. Sure, more than a few of them have found themselves consigned to handjobs once their partners have started getting serviced elsewhere.”
“But they aren't doing the job, right?” Drew wanted to goad Doug on but felt sick with what he was saying.
“That's a funny thing. When the guys catch on, consciously or otherwise, they always seem to recover their libidos for a bit. The women seem to get a kick out of it. I swear, it's like they go into baby-making mode and their husbands pick up on it. Like they know that breeding will happen and they're desperate to get a shot. I've seen it in middle-aged couples that haven't fucked in years...” Doug paused for reflection. “I guess I'd be doing them a favor if she’s still giving it to him.”
“But you used to be such a nice guy back in school. What started you doing this? Not to offend, but this all seems a bit sociopathic.”
Doug’s face dropped. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. How much of the scandal around Coach Palmer do you remember?”
“Our high school football coach? I remember he got divorced back in our senior year and turned into an even surlier prick for the rest of the year.”
“Oh yeah, he got divorced, but that wasn’t what had him upset. Our dear Bob Palmer had knocked up Maryellen Townsend. On top of his divorce, he was dealing with a criminal investigation and a school board review.”
Drew’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit. Wait, wasn’t Maryellen your girlfriend?”
“Uh huh. My sweet little blonde cheerleader. She was my first love, and I put up with barely getting a hand up her blouse from the moment we started dating the night of her sweet sixteenth. During football practice, Coach Palmer would have his assistants running us around the track until we were puking on the bleachers - meanwhile, he’s got her bent over his desk back in the gym office every single practice session of senior year. He told her she couldn’t put out for me because I’d be able to tell that she was loose from having sex now. I didn’t get anything from her but birthday handjobs until two weeks after my eighteenth birthday, when we got drunk at Matt Harmon’s party and she rode me in an upstairs bedroom. Turned out that she had just found out that she was pregnant and the good coach told her to get with me so that I’d think it was mine and marry her. What kind of fucked up shit is that?"
Drew let that sink in for a moment.
"Anyway, that same night, the coach ends up accidentally replying to a long e-mail chain with her about all of it but instead sends the whole thing to Michael Townsend, school board president and Maryellen’s father and the guy who’d just written to congratulate the coach on another win for our Valley Vikings football team. I mean, that’s dumb, even by high school gym teacher standards."
Doug chuckled, shook his head and nipped his beer, lost in the memory for a moment.
“So while I’m getting ridden by Maryellen at a party, her father’s losing his mind and making calls to everyone from the principal to the state police. The next two months was all depositions and questioning by school officials. He got a six-month suspension with pay, but even that bullshit punishment was tabled once it was pointed out that the football team was on a winning streak and that nothing could get in the way of a Midwest town and its football.
“In the end, Maryellen got shipped off to finish the year at a parochial school in Minnesota where I heard she put the kid up for adoption. Coach Palmer kept being Coach Palmer, albeit in a divorced capacity, and the school board had the blinds on his office windows removed. I quit football and started focusing on my studies, which I kind of had to do. Everyone on the football team had been pulled into the investigation and there I was, the guy whose girlfriend was fucking the coach. I had to live with the whispers and jokes for the rest of the year.”
“Shit, man, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright now. I’m getting my revenge.”
“Revenge? With other guys’ wives? How’s that right?”
“Oh, that’s just for sport. No, the revenge is on old Coach Palmer. A few years after we graduated, he announced that he was marrying a twenty-two-year-old paralegal named Erika McDaniel.”
“Wait, Doug, Erika McDaniel, wasn’t that Matt Harmon’s girlfriend back in high school?”
Doug let out an evil chuckle. “One and the same, my friend. Matt went to work at his dad’s drywall business after graduation and Erika went to community college. They got married a year and a half later. Two years later, she up and leaves. Moves in with the coach.
“Now I didn't know they were doing anything untoward prior to the split, and certainly not way back in school, but it looked pretty bad. Not only was Matt crushed that his wife was leaving, but everyone in town is giving him the side eye. They had just bought a house and were trying for a kid. He tried to woo her back; he even begged her in the middle of a crowded Red Lobster. She finally broke down and told him that she was four months pregnant and it wasn’t his. The whole restaurant saw him go to waterworks. Even after that, he still kept sending her messages that he forgave her and wanted her back, pregnant and all. Coach Palmer finally showed up at his house one day and threatened to call the cops. It was one hell of a spectacle.”