Too Close for Comfort B

Hi folks, Here's another tale of loss and woe. This is another long one, so if you're not prepared for that you might want to skip it. I intended this one as a nice long summer read with a lot of characters and a lot going on. It might be better not to try to read it all in one sitting. I should also tell you that this one is the B version of this story. It has been modified to fit your TV screens...well it has been modified for Literotica. If you would like the unvarnished version, most of you know where to find it. And I hope someone will tell the one's who don't. Thanks again to Barney-R for his editing wizardry. Please check out his latest stories, they're great as usual. No sex with under 18 characters in this story.

* * * * * *

I fidgeted on the chair as the old woman sitting across from me wrote mysterious things down on a legal pad. Occasionally she looked over at me. Once or twice our eyes locked as I caught her watching me. I was fairly sure that she was recording her observations of my behavior.

Across the room another woman, the one I was married to for twenty two years, paced the floor as if she was upset.

I looked at my watch again. The old woman noticed and made another note.

"Okay," she said. "Let's get started. Yours is a very unusual case. Mrs. Matthews, can you take a seat?"

I spread my legs to take up more space. I turned at an angle to take up more space too. It didn't matter. She walked right over to the large comfortable chair and looked at me, as if to ask me to move over so she could sit next to me.

"Dahlia, there's a huge sofa right there," I said, pointing at the sofa.

"So, I want to sit next to you," she said.

"I don't want to sit by you Dahlia," I said. "Could you please just give me a little space?" She refused to budge. She even tried to move my legs over.

"Okay, Dahlia, you can have the chair. I'll take the sofa," I said. She immediately turned and jumped on the sofa, smiling at me. I didn't move.

"That's what I have to deal with every time we're around each other," I said.

I noticed the doctor writing things down.

"Mr. Matthews, why don't you start," said the old woman. "This is an unusual case. I'd like to have the two of you just tell me what happened, first. Before we do any exercises or have any type of treatment, let's just talk about what happened to ruin your marriage."

"Our marriage wasn't ruined," spat Dahlia. "Grant just insists that everyone and everything around him is perfect. I made a mistake after eighteen years of marriage and he just wanted to throw everything away. It's just..."

Dahlia stopped talking when she noticed that the doctor had her hand up.

"Mrs. Matthews, you will have your turn, I promise you," said the woman. "But in order for us to work more effectively, we need to respect each other's turns, okay. You do want this to work, don't you?" Dahlia nodded.

The woman looked at me and I began talking.

"As Dahlia said," I began. "We were married. We were more, far more than a married couple. Dahlia was my best friend. She was my soulmate. I know that sounds corny, but it's really true in our case. We were so close that we completed each other's sentences. We were together twenty three hours a day most of the time and had been for about eighteen years when things went to shit.

We lived together, we ate together, and we slept together..."

"When we actually slept," Dahlia inserted.

"Anyway," I continued. "We also worked together. We worked in the same office for the same company on the same shift, doing the same thing. I have to admit that it was fun and I really enjoyed working with her. Scratch that, in order for this to work, I have to be totally honest, right?" Dahlia screwed up her face and the therapist nodded.

"I'll be honest then," I said. "I loved Dahlia. She was so much more than just a wife. She was a part of me. She was my heartbeat. I loved spending every possible second with her. Both times when our daughters were born, I took vacation time to stay home from the time they were born until I ran out of time.

As much as I love my daughters, I was stupid about Dahlia. It was almost painful for me to be away from her. She was the most beautiful woman I knew. Every day the first thing I did when I woke up was to thank my lucky stars that she had married me. And..."

"And the second thing he'd do was pull my legs apart and fuck me until ... Sorry, I won't interrupt again," said Dahlia.

"Well, we had a pretty active sex life," I began again. "And as I said all the way until my oldest daughter, Rose, turned eighteen and my baby, Lilly, turned fourteen our lives were heavenly.

We would start most days, with a run in the park together..."

"The run came after the morning sex," said Dahlia. "I fucking hated running. I just did it because I didn't want to be away from him and he loved it ... I did it again didn't I?" She shrugged her shoulders and pinched her lips together.

"Yep, I love to run," I continued. "I still do. I ran a lot slower back then, so I could look at Dahlia. I'm not saying anything negative about her now, but back then she looked incredible. I'm not just talking about her pretty face and pretty hair. Dahlia was about the same height she is now, but she only weighed about a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet. Her legs were amazing. Her butt was a work of art, and on her chest were the two most perfect..." I stopped.

The therapist looked at me and so did Dahlia. "I apologize, ladies," I said. "I was inappropriate."

"Actually we're all adults here and I want your honest opinion and feelings," said the therapist.

"Okay, I was one of the luckiest men in the world. I not only loved my wife, I lusted after her. Even after the births of our children, she was my dream woman, my fantasy girl. At thirty eight years old Dahlia was hotter than any Victoria's Secret model. And for eighteen years, she'd fooled me into believing that she felt the same way about me ... But it was too good to be true, because..."

"Fuck you, Stupid," hissed Dahlia. "If it was up to me, we'd still be married. You were the one who wanted the God damned divorce. I would marry you again right now if you asked me ... this isn't working, Doctor. Grant is telling the story from his view point only. He's distorting the facts to fit his version of the story. Whatever happened to Ladies first anyway? Can I go first?"

The therapist looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded.

"Sure, why not," she said. "Mrs. , you go first."

* * * * * *

Dahlia

"As Grant said, we were very much in love. Notice that I said "WE." I love Grant at least as much as he loved me. Notice I said "LOVE." I didn't say "LOVED," like he does.

And as he said, we were always together. Our desks at work were right beside each other. And we also ate lunch together. Grant and I have tiny little differences in our personalities. I am basically a free spirit. I'm artistic and creative and I guess I might have been considered a bit wild or just unpredictable.

Grant on the other hand was the most organized man I have ever met. Everything with him was scheduled and regular. He was steady and very dependable.

Together, we were the perfect team. We tempered each other's excesses. Grant kept me from being too wild and possibly getting hurt. I kept him from being too boring.

Anyway, one day I was talking with a couple of the women in the office. We started out the usual way. We talked about men. I noticed that the two of them were always looking at Grant, so I made sure to remind them that he was exclusively my property. They talked about how lucky I was and how I had what they both wanted.

We ended up talking about what they did with their nights and we also talked about how Grant and I were never apart.

"Not even every once in a while?" asked Glenda Stevens. "Everyone needs a little time to themselves once in a while."

"Grant and I have never been apart for more than an hour or two for the past eighteen years," I said. "And even then, it just seems wrong for me to be without him."

"Honey, too much togetherness isn't a good thing," said Mary Richards.

"Yeah," agreed Glenda. "After a while, he'll start taking you for granted."

"Hey," said Mary. "Why don't you go on vacation with us? We're taking a seven day trip to Jamaica. The break would do you good. It could breathe new life in your marriage."

I wasn't sure that it was a good idea at first. But the more we talked, the more they convinced me that I really had to go with them. Finally I decided to talk to Grant about it. When I mentioned it to him, he looked like a balloon that someone had let all of the air out of.

But he agreed. He told me it was no big deal. Our girls at eighteen and fourteen were pretty much old enough to care for themselves. He was sure that everything would be fine.

I didn't find out until much later that he was all torn up inside about me going. He didn't want me to go, but he also didn't want to keep me from doing something that I wanted to do. He'd always supported any and every silly thing I wanted to try. So even though he was literally sick about it, he just said sure.

Thinking back on it, I missed a lot of things. As the day we would leave drew closer, I got more excited. Glenda, Mary, and I chatted constantly about things we would do on our trip. But what I failed to notice was what was going on right under my nose.

Grant was already suffering and I hadn't left yet. I guess I was too close to see it clearly. But I guess others noticed it and they told me about it. But they never told me until after I came back.

Grant and I were still joined at the hip. He and I still went everywhere together and did everything together. He even helped me shop for things for the trip. But Grant was clearly fading. That is ... it was clear to everyone except me.

The morning that our flight left, he hugged me as if we would never see each other again. But then he did that if I went to the market without him. Don't get me wrong. I was the same way about him. If Grant went hiking with the guys or to a football game or anywhere that I couldn't go with him; even if it was only for a couple of hours, I cried like a baby until he came home.

But this time I was so excited that everything else failed to register.

On the flight, the girls were subdued at first. They were different. Their usually boisterous personalities seemed muted. It was Glenda who spoke up first.

"How the hell can you leave him?" she asked.

"I've never seen anything like that," said Mary. "He looked like he was going to just stand there barely breathing until you get back."

"Shit, if I had someone who loved me like that, we'd never get out of bed," said Glenda.

"Oh shit," said Mary, when she noticed me. "Honey, don't cry. We're gonna have fun. You two need some time apart. It's only for a few days."

I spent most of my time on the flight either looking at pictures of Grant and my daughters, or reading my travel magazines about Jamaica.

From reading the magazines I knew everything about Jamaica. Or at least I thought I did. This means of course, that I didn't know shit.

Stepping off of the plane was like stepping into a furnace. I think they have a special, hotter, brighter sun in that part of the world. The heat hit me like a fist. I could hardly believe that people were walking around in it.

Mary and Glenda, from the looks on their faces were faring no better. We were all thinking the same thing. We needed to get to the hotel as soon as possible.

After grabbing our luggage, we spotted a sign for the tour group we had joined for the trip. We pulled our wheeled suitcases toward the sign and checked in with a smiling local woman who was wearing a straw hat and huge sunglasses. She ushered us onto a bus. We were in heaven as the air conditioning on the bus gave us a break from the heat.

I was so relaxed on the bus waiting for the rest of the group to check in, that I almost went to sleep. The gentle movement of the bus starting off brought me out of my sleepiness though.

Looking out of the window as the bus drove though the streets I saw two worlds. One was full of happy smiling people and colorful signs and banners. There were restaurants, shops, and all kinds of things to do.

But in other places, I saw dark, unwelcoming streets where there were very few people and the people I saw looked sad, broken, or angry. I wondered how there could be two such different cultures in such a small space. As I sat back in my seat though, I realized that my city was no different. Perhaps every city on earth was the same. There were areas where the well to do lived and other areas where the poor lived.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by our arrival at our hotel. We were given our room keys, a copy of the tour's itinerary and instructions on how to get help if we were lost or in trouble. We were also told to stay within the hotel's very spacious grounds or the nearby areas at all times. Anything we needed could be arranged or handled by the hotel staff.

"That sounds like good advice," said Glenda. "I came here to party, relax, and have a good time. Not to show up on one of those TV shows on the ID network."

"It sounds like bullshit to me," said Mary. "I didn't come all the way to Jamaica to hang out in a hotel. I could have done that in Michigan. I'm not going to stay at the pool; I'm going down to that huge beach we just passed. And you two are coming with me."

The three of us were sharing a suite. We looked everything over and decided that we'd had enough excitement for one day. The long flight from the coast and the shorter flight before it, from Michigan, had worn us out. It was almost evening anyway. We decided to grab a quick meal from room service and hit the pool or the beach early the next day.

When we woke up the next morning, the sun was already up and blazing. We decided to have breakfast down in the pool area. Mary quickly convinced us to try out the hotel's beachfront as a compromise between her desire to hit the open beach and our intent to stay within the hotel's grounds. It sounded like a safe alternative that would please everyone, so that was what we did.

As soon as we got on the beach we got a table. Mary summoned a waiter over and ordered a breakfast of fruit, juices, and coffee for the three of us. Everywhere we looked there were people in swimwear. We noticed that the clothing we had brought with us, although straight from magazines that proudly proclaimed it as stylish beach wear was clearly too much.

Even matronly fifty year olds were wearing less than we were. After breakfast we went back up to our suite and changed. I changed into shorts and a T-shirt. I wore flip-flops and since my boobs needed a break from confinement, I just wore one of my sports bra tops that I wore for running with Grant.

Glenda had on a really pretty sun dress. She gelled her hair back to get it out of her face and bought a huge straw hat to keep the sun off of her skin. Glenda, being a red head had very fair skin.

"Really, Glen?" asked Mary. "You look like a frigging librarian on vacation. At least just throw on some shorts and a T-shirt, like Dahlia."

"I wish I could," said Glenda. "But I burn very easily, and my boobs are too big for me to run around in a T-shirt."

"Oh Jesus, Glen. You act like every man we run into is just after your tits. Believe it or not, Dahlia and I have boobs too. Put on a swim suit and live a little. We're here to relax and mingle," said Mary.

"What if I meet a really nice man? I don't want him to think I'm some sort of whore," said Glenda.

"We're not here to meet nice men," laughed Mary. "We're here to get drunk, get fucked, and forget about it. This trip is about blowing off some steam and relieving the pressure of working every God damned day."

"Okay, why don't you be Mary, and relax the way Mary wants to, and let me be Glenda," said Glenda sharply.

We went back to the beach and took a table further down on the beach. From where we sat the border between the hotel's property and the open beach was only a few yards away. There were people as far as the eye could see.

There were all kinds of people. A lot of them were beautiful young people on break from college. I was glad that I hadn't worn a swim suit. There were so many beautiful young women and handsome young men chasing them that I would have gotten lost in the shuffle. No one is really interested in a forty year old woman in a crowd like that.

There were also families and a few older couples, although most of the families and older people stayed closer to the hotel. The activities were less raucous the closer you got to the hotel.

For the first three days we did the same things. We went to the beach during the morning hours, where Glenda whipped out her book of the day, and sat under a big umbrella in her huge straw hat and read. During the afternoon hours with the sun at its height, we went on bus tours, explored the island, and saw the sights.

In the evening we went out to clubs and restaurants. We danced, ate, and had drinks until we could barely walk. It was on the third evening that it started. I was dancing with one of the guys from our tour group. I had been going a little bit further every day it seemed, and that evening I was really drunk.

I was dancing really close with him, too close, and his hands were all over me. I was feeling no pain and when he started grinding on me, I just smiled and let him.

The next thing I remember was Glenda coming over and pulling me away from the guy. She had a really stern look on her face and told me it was time for us to leave. Then Mary came over and told Glenda that I was a grown woman and I should be able to have a little fun if I wanted.

"Jeezus, Glen," she's only dancing. "Who are you supposed to be her mother?"

"No, I'm supposed to be her friend," said Glenda. "I just don't want her doing anything that she'll regret."

"I'm fine," I said. "I won't dance with any other nasty men." I sounded fine but I was drunk out of my skull.

"I'm going back to the hotel," said Glenda. "I'll see the two of you when you get in." Everything in my brain told me to go with Glenda.

"Glen, we only have two days left in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I don't want to get back to Michigan and have nothing to remember it by," said Mary.

Glenda just nodded and after looking at me one last time headed back for the hotel. Mary grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the restaurant we were in.

"Shit, I thought I would never get away from her," she said. We went down the beach further and further until we saw a huge bonfire burning right on the beach. We were away from the hotel grounds and most of the people were Jamaican. There were a few tourists there but they were mostly younger people.

The acrid smell of powerful weed was thick in the air. Music was playing. It was a type of music I had never heard before. It was very rhythmic and percussive, with a singer doing more chanting or speaking than actual singing.

Mary looked around in several directions and finally dragged me over to a couple of guys that I had seen her talking to earlier in the day. They were standing in front of a little shack on the beach. One was a middle aged blond guy with very blue eyes. The other appeared to be Hispanic. The blond wrapped his arms around Mary and kissed her. She kissed him back. His friend came over towards me as Mary and the blond guy went into the shack.

He reached for my arms and tried to pull me towards him. I struggled with him and tried to pull away. "No," I yelled.

"Come on baby, relax," he said in heavily accented English. "We're gonna have some fun, that's all." He gripped my arms tighter. It seemed like his hands were made of iron. I couldn't pull away from him.