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The Hollow Pill, Part 3

Revenge is the best medicine. Or is it?


Lucinda woke first in the morning. The men still lay cuddled against her, their hands on her breasts. She lifted them off gently and slid down to the foot of the bed. She got up and looked at where she had lain. A yellow crust of semen had hardened on the sheet.

She went into the bathroom, looked for a clean towel, but saw only a used one hanging on a rack on the wall. She smelled it. It was a little musky, but not too bad. She stepped into the tub, closed the blue plastic curtain, and turned on the shower. She lathered herself with a bar of soap, rinsed her mouth under the spray, and squeezed two sudsy fingers up her vagina, trying to get it clean. She thought about doing the same with her anus, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she soaped her ass well and ran her fingers through the crease. But she felt sore there and had to give up.

She turned off the taps, dried herself, and went back in the bedroom. The men were still sleeping. She found her clothes on the floor. Her panties were stiff with dried semen but she put them on anyway. She stepped into her sundress and pulled it up.

In the kitchen, she searched for coffee, found a jar of instant in one of the cupboards. She boiled water in a kettle, made a cup, and sat at the kitchen table, thinking.

She was horrified at what she had done, and was at a loss to explain it. Perhaps it had been revenge, the best medicine some say. But if this was medicine it felt empty, like a hollow pill.

Replaying the events in her head, she knew that it had started in Adam’s truck. She had had no intention of cheating on Bob, despite her earlier thoughts to the contrary. No, it was the damn wine and the pot—they had made her feeble, weak. But she couldn’t deny that at some point she had begun enjoying the feel of Adam’s cock in her mouth, the power it seemed to give her over him. And though she certainly hadn’t given her consent to Randy to lick her pussy or fuck her, her orgasm on the end of his cock—the most powerful one she had ever had—was testament that she had enjoyed that as well.

The scene in the bedroom had begun with good intentions—she had just wanted to get warm—but somehow that too had changed. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but she thought it had started with Adam kissing her. He was the best kisser she had ever experienced. His tongue probing her mouth had actually given her several mini-orgasms. Thinking about it now, a blush came to her cheeks. Had she really asked if she could put her tongue in his mouth? Had she been so bold? Her memories were cloudy, but she thought she had. And when he rolled over, with her on top, there was no doubt that she had taken the initiative. While he lay there placidly, she had fucked him. Hard.

She never would have given permission to Randy to fuck her ass, though, not in a million years. And not just because it had been so painful, but because he was Ricky’s Gillespie’s father, a boy she near loathed. Although she thought she had some feelings for Adam, with his dreamy blue eyes and lean physique, the only feeling she had for Randy was disgust. Then why had she kissed him after they used her, massaged his tongue with hers? That was what they had done—used her as a come bucket, disregarding her pain, rocking her between them like a ship in distress. And she had been in distress—until Adam told her to come for them. She came all right, in a great gushing orgasm, shivers rattling through her body like shingles in a storm, flailing and moaning like a ten-dollar whore.

The reliving of it heated her cheeks again.

She needed a plan for when the men woke up, something to say, a script, so she wouldn’t have to see them again. Avoiding Randy shouldn’t be hard; this late in the school year there were no more parent-teacher meetings, and he would never mention this to his son.

Adam? Well, he was a friend of Penny and Greg—or at least an acquaintance—so that might be more difficult. He was divorced and had nothing to lose by leaking information to her friends. If he did, she would just have to confront it head-on. She would have to confess her sins to Penny, explain it was because of the alcohol and the drugs, and hope she would understand…and not tell Greg. She didn’t think she would tell—Penny had always been a stalwart at her side. And she knew about Bob’s infidelity and would take that into account.

Satisfied, Lucinda got up and made herself another coffee. As she was drinking it, Adam came out of the bedroom in black boxer shorts, his hair mussed, his eyes looking sleepy. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning.” She faked a smile.

He walked over to the kettle, filled it, and plugged it in.

“Adam, I hate to ask this before you’ve even had a coffee, but do you think we could go back to Laredo Slim’s to look for my purse? It’s bothering me.”

He rubbed a knuckle against his eye. “Sure. Just let me get some clothes on.”

“I’ll make you a coffee to go, okay?”

He nodded and went into the bedroom.

When he returned, he took his coffee in a travel mug and they went out to the truck. Lucinda had tried to be careful last night after Randy came inside her to make sure her dress was under her when she sat up. Even so, she saw a dried scab of semen on the gray vinyl seat, and felt a twinge of embarrassment. As she climbed into the cab, she wondered how bad the stain was on the back of her dress. She hadn’t thought to check before she put it on. She would have to be mindful of it when they got to the bar, keep her back turned away from people. It was early, just a little after ten, so there shouldn’t be many there.

Adam pulled into a gas station a few blocks away and filled the truck. Then they left for Laredo Slim’s.

None of the night staff was working but the owner was there. He checked under the bar and found her white clutch. A note stuck to it with Scotch tape said it had been found in the women’s washroom, gave Lucinda’s description, and said she’d been looking for it. Lucinda was relieved.

When they went outside, she opened it and was happy to see her money, house key, and credit and bank cards all intact. Saying a silent prayer, she walked with Adam back to the truck.


She had him pull to the curb around the corner from her house so he wouldn’t know where she lived, and forced a closed-mouth smile. “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” she said. “Thanks for everything, Adam.”

His smile seemed more sincere than hers. “Thank you, Lucinda.”

She opened the door and went to step out.


She turned her head.

“Can I see you again?”

“I don’t think that would be wise, Adam.” She got out and shut the door.

She waited until he had left before she started walking home. There was a moment’s discomfort when her next-door neighbor waved at her from his front stoop, mainly because she was concerned about the stain on her dress. But from this distance she knew it was unlikely that he saw it.

She went in the house, buried her dress and panties in the bottom of the clothes hamper, and put on her robe. She picked up the bedside phone and, hearing the messages-waiting tone, punched in the password.

The first call had come at 11:10 last night.

“Hi, honey,” Bob said. “Just calling to say I miss you. You’re probably already in bed. Okay. Sleep tight. Pleasant dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The second call was time-stamped this morning at eleven o’clock, five minutes ago.

“Hi, honey, it’s me. We’re getting ready to leave Cresston. I should be home in a couple of hours or so. Miss you. See you soon.”

The monotone voice that intoned “End of messages” sounded like the Grim Reaper announcing the end of her life.

She hadn’t slept well last night, and felt like lying down. She set the alarm for 12:45, pulled on some flannel pajamas, and crawled into bed.


She was on edge the next few days, afraid Bob would see through her. But he acted normal, and her concern waned.

Her plan to avoid Adam and Randy was workable, she thought, though she supposed one or both of them could call her at home and set the boat adrift. Randy knew her last name, and while neither man knew her address, Adam knew where he had dropped her off. Their phone number was in the White Pages under Bob’s name. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

She was almost sure Randy wouldn’t call—he had as much to lose as she did—but she wasn’t that confident about Adam. But she had told him she was married, and that she didn’t want to see him again. Surely that was enough. Even so, she wasn’t totally comfortable.

Bob’s secretive phone calls continued throughout the week, and her suspicions peaked again. The box of French tickers in his underwear drawer hadn’t been touched, but that didn’t mean much.

On Saturday, late afternoon, Bob told her he had to go to the office to finish some work.

“What about supper?” she said. She had begged off his invitation to La Seduzione di Alimento last night, too embarrassed to see the boy, Paolo, again.

“I’ll grab something in town,” he said.

He left around three wearing a white golf shirt and tan chinos, his normal casual attire. While it wasn’t unusual for him to go to the office on a weekend, it was unusual to be leaving so late.

It wasn’t until after he had gone that Lucinda realized what day it was. Her birthday. Thirty years old, and she felt every minute of it.

“That bastard,” she muttered. Not only was he carrying on with his bimbo floozy, he had completely forgotten her special day. The wounds of his affair hadn’t dug quite so deep this past week, not after last Saturday night’s orgy with Adam and Randy. It was hard to remain indignant when one had lost the moral high ground. What she had done was wrong, she knew that, but she wasn’t totally to blame. If Bob hadn’t been running around on her behind her back, she never would have been at Laredo Slim’s, never would have found herself in that position.

And now he had left her alone to celebrate a milestone, a decade-turner, a birthday many women fretted over—the end of young adulthood and the beginning of middle age.

She choked back a sob at that thought. She would have to start over again—cruise the bars on weekends, join internet matchmaking sites, endure the pains of dating. She didn’t know if she had the energy to do it. After last Saturday it felt like a large portion of her soul had leaked out and vanished into the ether. She couldn’t blame Adam and Randy entirely for what had happened, she had enjoyed it in some perverse way, but the next morning she had felt used, hollow inside.

Over the next few hours she had a couple of glasses of wine, puttered around the house. Around five-thirty the phone rang. Thinking it was Bob, she ran to get it. Penny said, “Lucinda? Greg’s at the restaurant at the Propensa Hotel, having dinner with a friend. He called and said he saw Bob there with some woman he didn’t recognize.”

“What were they doing?”

Penny hesitated. “Greg said they looked pretty cozy. I thought if you wanted to get to the bottom of this, I could pick you up and we could go there.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“Be there in fifteen.”

She had showered that morning; she only had to brush her teeth and hair. She didn’t want to look like a frump when she confronted Bob and his hussy, so she changed into a nice blouse and dress slacks.

Penny arrived and they drove in silence. Lucinda felt too jittery to speak. Her stomach was doing flip-flops and she was trembling.

The drive seemed to fly by, Lucinda lost in her thoughts. Penny pulled into a curbside parking spot in front of the hotel and turned to her. “Try and keep your cool, okay?”

Lucinda nodded.

In the lobby, Penny made a call on her cellphone. “Greg? We’re here. Where did you see him last?” A pause. “Okay.” She ended the call. “He saw them go through there.” She pointed past the north end of the lobby to a set of double doors with a sign that said Fitzgerald Room. It seemed odd to Lucinda that they would be in there rather than renting a guest room, but if Greg had seen them…

They walked to the double doors. “Ready?” Penny said.

Lucinda took a deep breath and nodded. Penny opened one of the doors and they went in. Tthe door closed behind them. It was dark inside, too dark to see. Lucinda couldn’t tell if this was a ballroom or a small meeting room. Her eyes were just beginning to adjust when the overhead lights came on.

“Surprise!” a cacophony of voices shouted.

Bob stood there smiling with a group of twenty or thirty people—her parents and brother, neighborhood friends, fellow teachers from Hanover High, some of Bob’s work colleagues and their spouses. Greg was there, too, wearing a big shit-eating grin. So was the woman she had seen Bob with here a week ago Thursday. She was dressed in business attire, wearing a badge that said Colette Armstrong, Assistant Manager. Round tables and chairs had been set up, and a buffet line of appetizers and munchies. In the middle of the head table sat an ornately decorated cake with a big 30 on top.

Bob came over and gave her a hug. “Happy birthday, honey.” He kissed her, then whispered in her ear, “I’ve got a big surprise for you tonight.”

Suddenly everything fell into place: the cellphone calls, the French ticklers, the clandestine meeting. She felt like death, cold to the marrow. How could she have suspected Bob of doing something so horrid, so deceitful? What would happen if he found out about Adam and Randy? At least before she had had something to throw back in his face. But now…

As Bob looked at her with admiring eyes, a warm tingly glow began to fill her body. At that moment she thought she finally understood what love was. This was love, what she had with her man. How stupid she had been to go looking for it in a rundown C&W bar with men she didn’t know, men with whom she had nothing in common.

A couple of adages popped into her head. Revenge is the best medicine. She had proven that one untrue. Confession is good for the soul. Was it? Guilt weighed her down like an anvil around her soul. If she confessed to Bob would the burden lift? Could he forgive her? Would he forgive her? How much would she have to tell him? Could she leave it that she simply had made a mistake? Or would he press for the identities of the men, for every sordid detail. She was sure that if she confessed everything, Bob would leave her. What man could accept being cuckolded to such a depraved degree? Would she be able to make him understand that it hadn’t been entirely her fault? Or had it?

“I love you,” Bob said.

She guessed she would have to test that statement.

“I love you, too,” she said.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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