An Affair While Dying

By Arlene Gettys

The door to hell locks from the inside. People are there, because they want to be. As humans they were selfish, deceitful evil beings. They were their own gods.
Meet James, a racist sexually addicted malignant narcissist who's been deemed the master of gaslighting.
James has enjoyed the spoils of wealth during his twenty-eight year marriage to Alyza, heiress to the Rockschild fortune. When he is diagnosed with a severe form of terminal cancer and given less than two years to live, his wife rushes to his side. However, James is determined to have one last affair.
When Alyza learns of his affair with a young, Jamaican con artist, she decides to cheat too.
Now everyone is sinning, but someone will die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669867944

Arlene Gettys

Arlene is a native of Houston, Mississippi who works tirelessly to improve the nation’s perception of mental health. This is her third published work. Her first, “Borderline Traits” is referenced in the textbook Abnormal Psychology: Neuroscience Perspectives on Human Behavior. Her second, "Bipolar Moments", teaches readers the importance of spirituality, patience, and resilience as they strive to understand, support, and love those who suffer with bipolar disorder. Arlene is an alumna of Chaminade University of Honolulu, Hawaii where she was awarded an academic scholarship and completed an Associates of Liberal Arts. She attained a Bachelor of Science in Social Work from Excelsior College. She also holds a Master’s of Science in Psychology from Walden University.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1     James

Chapter 2     Alyza Jane

Chapter 3     James

Chapter 4     Alyza

Chapter 5     James

Chapter 6     James

Chapter 7     James

Chapter 8     James

Chapter 9     James’s Illness

Chapter 10   An Affair Revealed

Chapter 11   Alyza

Chapter 12   James

Chapter 13   Alyza

Chapter 14   James

Chapter 15   Alyza

Chapter 16   James

Chapter 17   Alyza

Chapter 18   James

Chapter 19   Alyza

Chapter 20   James Meets with His Father

Chapter 21   Alyza Meets Mrs. Robe

Chapter 22   Group Therapy: The Caregivers

Chapter 23   The Other Woman

Chapter 24   Alyza

Chapter 25   Church

Chapter 26   Alyza

Chapter 27   Alyza

Chapter 28   James

Chapter 29   Alyza

Chapter 30   Alyza: The End

Chapter 31   Arnesta and Her Father

Chapter 32   James: The End

This book is a work of fiction. Details of episodes of mania and depression are real; however, all events, names, dates, and places are of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real-life people or events is purely coincidental. Good fiction makes us think and provokes emotion, thus teaching us empathy and compassion.

To my paternal grandmother, Emma Gettys-Roberson.

You always taught me to not let any grass grow under

my feet. Your advice was always Try Jesus, baby.

When I didn’t know to pray, you prayed for me. I

think of you daily and will always love you.

Grandma Emma

March 16, 1916—June 6, 2016

A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.

—James 1:8 (KJV)

Acknowledgments

I first thank God for His grace, mercy, and sending me peace during the darkest of days. Due to the storms of life, it took seven years to complete this short writing. But He is faithful, and I thank Him for completion.

To my Lizzy, thank you for always being you and standing up for what you believe in. You are a resourceful person and an extremely strong woman. I’m anxious to see you as the determined, dedicated politician you’re destined to become. Continue to follow Christ, and there’s no limit to where you’ll go.

To Fred, my Marine & Army National Guard Soldier (not many mothers can say that huh?), thank you for always seeing the bigger picture and helping me keep my head on straight. You’ve been a true protector of your family and your nation. You are wise beyond your years. Keep God first as you continue your adventure-filled life traveling the world.

To my Very Best Friend, thank you for praying for me as you’ve advised and counseled me through the most difficult times. I’m blessed to have met you at my favorite place (the library), on the right day at just the right time.

Prologue

Hi, my name is Jay, and I’m a sex addict.

Hi, Jay, the group members replied.

I want to thank you all for allowing me to attend today. I’ve struggled with lust and the inability to deny the company of multiple beautiful women all my life. Just always thought I was the only one. I think I want help. I love my wife, so I do believe I want this behavior to stop. Over this last week, I’ve slept with four hookers and watched, oh, I’d say about twenty-five hours of porn. I even rented a hotel room just so I could watch uninterrupted.

"Well, Jay, sounds like you are really battling, buddy. But you’ve just taken one of the hardest steps a man can take on his journey of healing. If you stick with this program, you’re going to find that coming here and acknowledging that you do have a problem is the best thing you could have ever done. Your battle may not look like any other man’s in this room, but that’s OK.

This addiction is in the mind, and it’s deeper than seeing a woman and lusting about how it would be to sleep with her. Obviously, your resources are greater than most men. I could never afford the hookers and the hotel rooms. The man laughed.

Money can make the mind believe that only you matter, he continued. "Once you’ve indulged in sex at one level, resources, time, and opportunity can later help take sex for you to a shameful level of no return. This group strives to stop you from going to those levels, before you destroy your family, ’cause that’s rock bottom, man.

I’m not going to lie to you. It’s going to take a lot of work, starting with admitting to a whole lot of childhood stuff, which, if you’re like most of us, you’re probably not ready to do. But if you are willing, I can recommend a center that offers a fourteen-day intensive program. A few of us have gone through it already—

Whoa, wait a minute, I interrupted. "I’m not going to be put away in a nuthouse for fourteen days. I’m a man doing what men do, and I really don’t think my childhood has anything to do with it. Just like every other man in the world, I love looking at and sleeping with beautiful women. Besides, if being in a loony bin for two weeks is the magic cure, why did only a few of you do it, yet you are all still in these damn meetings, which are rather long, I might add?"

Unfortunately, there is no cure. I wish there were, man. It’s about stopping the destructive behaviors, finding the root cause of your addiction, and having a solid foundation for lasting recovery, the man answered.

"That sounds like a lot. Listen, I was only here because I have this eerie feeling that I will be caught soon. Full disclosure–I just want to tone it down a little. I’m not ready to quit cold turkey. I just don’t want to cheat as much." I initially thought these guys would understand, but the main guy wouldn’t let up. He was so judgmental.

"What do you mean by ‘as much’? If you are a married man and have had that much sexual contact outside your marriage in the last week, it should be evident that this is no easy feat. Addiction tries to control your mind, man. If you’re ready to change, no amount of sex is acceptable, especially outside your marriage. And if you’re doing this much with other women, brother, you can’t be taking care of home. The first step for me was to accept Jesus as—"

Hey, man, you can stop right there. If you’re going to bring religion into this, I gotta go! Hey, guys, maybe this isn’t for me. Thanks for nothing. I hissed.

I can’t imagine why he’s bringing my wife into this shit. "And I take care of home! I shouted as I pounded my chest with the palm of my right hand. There is absolutely no way my wife would ever step out on me!" I yelled, then wondered why I’d allowed this guy whom I didn’t know to piss me off. There were two subjects that were never up for discussion with me—my wife and Jesus.

And just like that, I’ve successfully completed my first Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting. All I learned was that I had more going for myself than either of the guys in that group. I looked down at my crotch and then jumped up to leave. This place they use to hold these meetings is a dump anyway.

CHAPTER 1

James

Sexual Addiction

My real name is James Curtis Higginbottom-Rockschild. I actually hate when people call me Jay. I only attended the Sex Addicts Anonymous group last night so if my wife ever catches me, I can say I am already getting help. Truth is I’ve cheated on my wife every single day for the majority of our marriage. It seems I’ve always been involved in some type sexual tryst or other.

Over the next few hours, days, weeks, months, or years it takes you to read the content of this book, you are sure to learn to hate me. I just ask, while you’re reading (and judging), put yourself in my shoes. What do you do when you are married to one of the most beautiful, successful women in the world—a woman so beautiful that when she walks into a room, both women and men stand to greet us to compliment her on how gorgeous she is?

What do you do, as a man, when you feel no one sees you, no one hears you, and most importantly, no one respects you because their focus is always on your wife? You are just the husband. I’ll tell you what I do: I act out, as a man, in the ways I’m about to explain.

Cheating is a habit I’ve perfected to help me cope in this high-class world in which I don’t feel I belong. Most people think I’m living the American dream. I’m white, successful, handsome, and married to a superwealthy woman. But you can’t possibly imagine how it feels to be married to a woman whom you feel has to dumb down her life to be with you. I mean, poor me. No one understands my pain. If I didn’t cheat with normal, everyday people who I felt were less than myself, I couldn’t survive.

The Rockschilds are one of the world’s wealthiest families. When I married my wife, I had to take her last name. It didn’t bother me when we first married because we were young, and I didn’t really want to work. I loved the feeling of being taken care of.

My wife, my beautiful Alyza, is the humblest woman I’ve ever met. I can tell she tried her best (at times) to never make me feel less than herself. But it didn’t work. I’m a man, damn it! But with all the hired help always fixing things and advising her, I sure as hell don’t feel like one. With each passing year of this marriage, I’ve felt more inadequate and less like a real man.

I call her Lyza, and no one else is allowed to call her that. I know she ignores the most extravagant things and tries to live a normal life just to make me feel good about myself. But it doesn’t work. I couldn’t work. I feel insecure and inadequate like so many other men married to powerful women, and I hate it. I hate myself, and sometimes I think I hate her.

I’ve never felt I measure up. I’ve always thought any of these guys in her circle, who were also born with silver spoons in their mouths, could take her from me at any time. They have so much more in common with her.

People say it’s bad manners to talk salary or net worth. But I have no problem admitting that I only make $350,000 a year. It’s not like I work my ass off or anything. I’m the smartest man at that law firm. If I put forth real effort, they wouldn’t be able to afford me. So I do them a favor by doing the bare minimum. And why should I work hard when my wife works at her family’s enterprises for only a few hours a month yet nets many millions a year? It’s like her family operates from a bottomless money pot.

Another reason I didn’t mind taking the name Rockschild was that I knew, before I met my wife, what their family was worth, and we’re talking billions with a b. My father-in-law made it clear to me that he wanted smart, successful grandsons so his legacy and the Rockschild name would live forever.

Obtaining my father-in-law’s approval was my most difficult accomplishment. William Christian Rockschild is the most dignified asshole I’ve ever met. But I have to give it to him; the man loves his family. I met his daughter while attending Harvard, so he knew I was smart.

My paternal grandfather was an extremely intelligent attorney; he was successful, but we weren’t wealthy, which is why I’m still shocked old man Rockschild even allowed me to date his daughter.

Once I announced that I planned to pursue a career in law, my father-in-law was proud. Bam! Finally, I was in. So hell yeah, I took his last name. Not only did I get a wife but a dad as well. My own father is a loser.

After passing the bar and becoming licensed to practice in Maryland, Virginia, the District of Columbia, and our little district of Gettysville, my father-in-law helped me land my first job with a prestigious DC law firm. To be honest with you, I was so busy partying and keeping my wife pregnant to secure my position in this family while in law school that I’m surprised I even passed the bar.

I am in with this family, and once you’re in, the only way out is death. There will be no divorce. You’ll take this family’s secrets to the grave. Plus, they’re real Catholics; so even if she tries, it will be hard as hell for Lyza to divorce me.

Even though my wife is a financial wizard, I handle all our household finances. I think she allows me to do this to make me feel like a man, like I really am head of the house. In fact, when I’m at work, I do very little at the firm. I spend most of my time managing my family’s finances, planning my next getaway, or chatting with sexy women online. I work on about four cases a year, and although these are big cases, they don’t show my full potential. My potential, that’s another story. My father-in-law says he sees it. I, on the other hand, have no desire to live up to it. I don’t need the pressure.

My wife has never had a concept of what an average attorney’s salary should be. I’ve actually not had a raise in over five years. I’ve had very few clients, but I’ve traveled all around the world on business trips that were actually financed out of our personal account with her money. I use these business trips to wine, dine, and have sex with some of the most beautiful people in the world.

I spend a lot of time traveling. I tell my wife that I’m on business, but these trips are all pleasure. I go to Thailand occasionally. I love the Philippines and often travel throughout the United States and the Caribbean.

I am loving life. If I die, I do not want to be reincarnated. When I die, just let me abscond into the heavens or descend into hell, whichever I’m destined for (it really doesn’t matter to me), where I can watch this life I’m living replay on some type computer screen. I love my life!

I could use any of the private aircraft of my wife’s family to fly anywhere in the world. But I chose to fly commercial today, so I can conceal my actual destination from my wife, her family’s pilots, and the nosy crew members. Right now, I’m sitting in Reagan National Airport, taking in the scenery. I’m checking out hundreds of women and the way their bodies move as they hurry here and there. I find that there are always adventurous, vulnerable women in airports just ready to have sex with me in an empty elevator or bathroom stall.

From time to time, I’ll even indulge in a little cottaging. This is where I’ll log onto a gay dating app and then hook up with men who are in various large airports around the country and craving a quick tryst in the john. I never give, but every now and then, I will accept a free blow job from one of these guys. Some of these men give the most amazing head.

As I look around, I’m trying to lock eyes with one of them. These guys will fuck right now, no strings attached. If I get lucky here, I’ll blow my load down one of their windpipes and leave the airport. If not, I’d usually fly to the destination, hook up with the guy I met on the app, bend him over a toilet, hang out in that city overnight, and then fly back to DC. However, today I have some place to be.

You’d think DC’s airport would be filled with beautiful women, but that’s not the case today. I see huge, short-haired white women who seem to be only interested in fucking one another. I see black women who look like true Africans (their skin is too dark); I’m afraid of them. I see mousy little white women. Then there are the bossy, over-forty white women who bark orders over the phone; now that’s the type of chick I’d like to force into the bathroom and screw the shit out of while bending her over a baby’s changing table.

Usually, on these little airport escapades, I end up with a thirty- to forty-year-old freak who claims