Two Different Roads

Stop In The Name Of Love

Mike Nesmith was a condemned man even if no one really knew it. He dreaded going home, afraid his wife would see the truth of his betrayal and guilt in his eyes. His lovely wife who was carrying his child inside her, who loved him, trusted him, depended on him.
How had he managed to fail her so horribly, to sink so low? He'd been quite unfaithful all along of course, but those had been a protracted series of isolated incidents with extras on the show, groupies, or overzealous fans, one time encounters that had barely lasted beyond the time it took for him to cum. None of them had meant a thing. He'd often forgotten their names before he finished fucking them.
It was completely out of character for him to engage in an actual affair. He'd never possessed any desire to. Ellen was nearly the perfect wife and mother. She ran the household wisely and well, and she'd always made every effort to please him in every way.

Those things were inconsequential compared to the physical, emotional , and spiritual connection they shared though. They also happened to have a lot in common and they had fun together, enjoyed one another's company.
He had no idea why he'd not just fucked Nurit and walked away as he'd done with all the others. Why had he kept going back for more? Now she was definitely in love with him, and she wasn't taking his attempts to end it well at all. He knew she was perilously close to specifically asking him for things he had absolutely no intention of giving her. Would she threaten to tell Ellen when she finally accepted the fact that he really WAS serious about stopping the insanity? What would he do if she DID tell Ellen? Should he beat her to it, come clean on his own? Would Ellen be less likely to leave him if he admitted his sins, told her he'd ended it, that it was a mistake he would never make again?

The problem was, of course, that he hadn't exactly ended it just yet, not entirely. He'd already attempted to, but Nurit had cried, he'd felt sorry for her and they ended up in bed again. Next time there would be no second thoughts; there couldn't be. He loved his wife, and she deserved all of him, all the time. Most of the other women hadn't really even wanted HIM personally. They'd just wanted to bed someone famous. Only Ellen really wanted him for who he actually was. He'd never been Mike Nesmith the Monkee to her. To her he was just Michael, the man she'd fallen in love with when he had nothing to offer her but himself.

"Luv is that you?"
She'd heard him come in. He'd showered at Nurit's, but he still self-consciously sniffed himself to make sure he didn't smell like sex or Nurit's perfume, a fragrance not at all as sweet and delicate as the roses he always associated with his wife.
His breath caught for a second when she entered the room as it always did. Her smile, her belly swelled with the life she would soon be bringing into the world, she looked like the blessed Madonna herself in his eyes.
"Don't I get a hello?" She asked.
He met her halfway across the room. If it hadn't been awkward in her condition he'd have scooped her up into his arms and held on for dear life. As it was, he simply reached to stroke her face, her lovely hair. "Sorry Sweet Thing. It was just a long day. I'm a bit out of it I guess."
He kissed her, inhaling that familiar, precious scent of blossoms, entwined his hand with hers and led her to the couch.
"How are you feeling today?"
"The usual aches and pains, and the future Nesmith has been practically tap dancing on my bladder, but pretty well otherwise."
He chuckled."Always giving his mother a hard time already. Definitely my kid for sure. Did i ever tell you how I messed up my hand?"

She shook her head.
"Me and some friends decided it would be a great time to break rocks with a sledgehammer. I was the bright boy who volunteered to hold them in place. My buddy's aim was off and he hit my hand instead of the rock."

He offered her his right hand for inspection. She'd known he had some permanent injury there, but she'd never really looked closely at it before. The ring finger was stiff, immovable.
"It's what they call anklyosed. Can't use it. Can't even make a proper fist with it."
"So what you're saying is that this child will have to be watched closely."
"Tight leash on any kid of mine. Christian must take after Phyllis."
She kissed the wonky finger, suddenly rose with difficulty.
"Hey where ya going Baby?"
"I need to check on dinner."
"Consuela can deal with that," he said referring to the housekeeper they'd just hired. "You come back here and snuggle up with me, rest a bit."
She didn't give him any argument, simply allowed him to slide down to the end of the long sofa so she could lye down, her head in his lap. He stroked her hair tenderly. "Who loves ya?"

"You do."
"That's right, Honey. Don't ever forget it," he told her with a catch in his throat. The guilt was nearly overwhelming now. Once more he thought of confessing. No, the last thing she needed in her condition was to be devastated with the news of her husband's infidelity. It would be better to finish putting an end to it and simply start fresh. She never need know about what a tremendous ass he'd been.

He automatically began to sing some old love song softly, tears coming to his eyes as she relaxed into his touch, fell asleep at last. God he loved her.