The following story is completely a work of fiction; just another tale of a husband’s woes in the face of a cheating wife. I hope you enjoy it.
Well here goes:
My name is Jeremy Armacost. Let’s get the preliminary bullshit out of the way. I’m a man. I live in a man’s world. I live in a free country. I read about all the crap other men go through when they find out their wives are cheating on them. We all know the litany. Oh I’m so brokenhearted! My wife doesn’t think I’m good enough. Oh I think I’ll just wring my hands and cry. How can I face my friends? My dick wasn’t big enough? Will I ever regain my self-respect? How could she have done this to me, to our happy home? I can’t bear the thought...
Well shit! I said shit! That’s right - shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Got it? Shit!
I’m a thirty-seven year old ex-securities consultant and adviser for a nationally known brokerage firm. I worked out of a branch office in a medium sized city in the Middle Atlantic States; that’s close enough for you. I stand a comfortable 6’ 3” tall, and I weigh in at an even 200 lbs. I have light brown hair and blue eyes.
Most women find me handsome, and over the years I’ve taken advantage of that. I had no trouble getting dates while I was in high school and college, and since college, though married I’ve made it with one or two or maybe three others. I’ll be clear about my infidelities; I’m no wife stealer. If I find out the woman is married I back off, and if I think my wife might know any of the women I nail, why I steer clear of them too. I like women. I like looking at their naked bodies. I like what they can do for me.
I’m pretty muscular. I lift weights. I took boxing lessons in college, and I’ve had a few, not many, but a few karate lessons. I seldom drink, and I never took up smoking. When I do drink I’m careful; I never get drunk. I keep in shape; most women don’t want to sleep with some slack jawed, pot-bellied, potato chip eating doughboy. Of course I said I was married, and trust me I’m faithful in my way.
My favorite hobbies are canoeing, hunting and fishing. I do my canoeing and fishing mostly up and down the many rivers in the northeast, and I have several deer heads in the den I had built over my garage. Several of my friends and I went bear hunting in upstate Maine not long ago. I got one. I’m also a gun collector. By guns I mean all types of firearms from shotguns, to rifles to an assortment of pistols including one old World War Two German Luger. When I get a deer, I skin it, I clean it, I cut it up in steaks, and then I take the residue and make my own deer sausage.
My wife won’t eat deer meat; I guess she’s watched Bambi too many times. Just the same I make her help me with the skinning and the gutting. She gets her hands bloody; sometimes she gets sick. Too bad; women in the old days did it.
Don’t get me wrong. I have a softer side. I like to sing and dance. In fact I’ve tried stand-up comedy at some of the local clubs. I play the piano and I play the violin. If you think I was a stud in college you’re probably right. I guess so far I don’t sound like a very sympathetic person. Well I’d like everyone to reconsider. I love my kids and I’m good to my wife. I’m very fond of my wife. Honestly, everything I do now is about my kids and my family.
Let me tell you a little about my kids. Felicity, she’s the oldest, she loves to dance, and if you ask me I think she’s a natural. Since mom says she doesn’t like to the ferry kids around all the time I take her to all her lessons. I go to all Felicity’s recitals and all the other shows the dance group she belongs to performs. You’d be surprised at how many dance companies there are, how many performances take place, and how much money it costs what with lessons, costumes, and performance fees. I don’t care; if that’s what Felicity likes then that’s it.
Jeremy Junior, he’s my son and second of our three, well he’s likes soccer and lacrosse. I used to loathe soccer, but loved lacrosse. I would have preferred if he’d signed up for football. He’s a muscular kid; he could’ve kicked some butt. Either way in the fall I’m at every soccer match and in the spring I don’t miss a single lacrosse game. I even had my old stick repaired so he and I can practice up in the back yard.
Then ‘there’s the baby, little Farrah. Farrah’s still pretty much into dolls and such. I found out they have these doll houses, not the old fashioned ones you can buy that are already made up. I mean the nice ones that have to be put together and painted. I bought one of those kits and spent I bet two dozen nights hiding in my den putting the thing together and painting it all up for her for Christmas. That was one of the greatest Christmases of my life. I remember Farrah came bounding down the stairs to see what was under the tree, got halfway down, sat down on the steps and started to cry. She’d wanted a special doll house like that but she hadn’t told anyone. She gulped and cried, “Look! Santa knew!” Man I almost cried. Remember, real men don’t cry.
So remember, for me it’s about the kids. I love kids.
There is a down side. I was born into a fairly affluent family. My grandfather left me a nice trust fund upon his death. Of course I felt the need to work, but overall I’ve never been especially ambitious.
Of course I’m married, been married for fourteen years. My wife’s name is Greta. She and I met while we were in college; the college is irrelevant. We met when she was a sophomore, and I was a senior. I graduated and immediately continued my education and got an MBA, Greta graduated a little later.
After we met, as expected, she fell madly in love with me. We got married, and went right to work building a family. Greta said she wanted six or seven kids, but we agreed to stop after three; she’d been to the doctors after Farrah and he told her she had some medical problems that apparently precluded any more pregnancies.
Right out of graduate school I landed a plum job, and went right to work. Honestly I had an inside track on the job; friends of my family helped me out. Back then I was on the fast track for advancement; unfortunately that came screeching to a halt shortly after Farrah arrived. It didn’t matter at the time; even without any promotions I was making damn good money. I might as well tell everyone life was good. I had three terrific kids, a loving wife, a great job, and a trust fund to fall back on.
It was just a couple years ago my apple cart sort of got tipped over. I’d foregone the first opportunity for advancement. Mainly I passed on the first chance because Greta wanted to stay where we lived. It’s in the same county where she grew up, and where all her friends and family lived there. I told her it could hurt me later on, but she was adamant, she wanted to stay home.
A few months after I turned down my first chance I got a second offer. I talked it over with Greta again, and she held the same line. She was still afraid we’d have to move. Well I loved living near my family, I found it would please Greta, and I was crazy about her mom, her dad, and her two younger sisters so I turned down promotion number two. Everyone knows how that can play out; offer number two was my last chance. I was stuck where I was, but I didn’t care very much. My job was just a reason to get out of bed and leave the house. My real life began and ended with my kids, and some other stuff like hunting, canoeing, going to the firing range, and yeah, I bought a snow mobile.
Several years ago when the bottom fell out of the economy people everywhere were looking to cut back. At the company where I worked I was perceived as someone with no ambition, they were right, so down the toilet I was flushed. Big job gone I thought I’d scrounge around and find something. I did, I found something working at a local bank giving stock advice to newlyweds. The pay wasn’t as good but the hours were great. Like I said I didn’t care too much; it got me out of the house so I could pretend to be a professional. Actually I considered myself a professional dad more than anything else. I got Felicity her own shotgun as soon as she started the third grade. Wow, was she ever pleased.
By then Farrah was old enough to be put in day care so Greta took it upon herself to make up the lost income by finding something on her own. Heck it didn’t matter if she wanted to get out a little I could find ways to get home early so none of the kids missed much. Oh, maybe there weren’t any more brownies when they got home, but there never had been anyway. Greta never liked to cook.
Am I going too fast for you? We didn’t need the money. I think Greta was just bored. Greta wanted to work outside the house. That was cool with me.
Greta has always been one hot looking babe. She was popular in college; guys chased her all over the place. She had that waifish lost little girl look. She wore pretty clothes that gave her a childlike appearance. I remember those cute little romper and jumper sets. She’d wear white button up blouses, peter pan collars and capped shoulders. She was as cute as a button; kind of a miniature, baby sized, Barbie. Yeah, I tracked her down like she was a young deer. Once I got her in my sites it was all over. Sure bet, I wasn’t worried. I knew when I was ready she’d end up with me, and she did.
Greta’s small; to say she’s five foot two is a stretch and she weighs less than a hundred pounds. She’s petite; she’s got small boobs, a tight little ass, pretty green eyes, and dark brown hair.
.... There is more of this story ...