There was an old man of Calcutta
Who spied through a chink in the shutter.
But all he could see
Was his wife's bare knee,
And the back of the bloke who was up her.
All the signs are there - Catherine is having an affair.
After eighteen years of marriage it seemed like an impossibility - yet the woman who makes my supper is not the woman who I've lived with all these years. What I mean is that she looks the same but Catherine certainly does not act the same as she has for these many years.
Oh certainly we have aged, matured, grew in all ways. Yet the transformation that I'm talking about has happened in a matter of weeks and not over years.
Just two days ago I unexpectedly appeared in her office, guessing her mystery lover was a co-worker. Sound hypothesis, as Catherine spends at least ten hours a day at work - and has earned the partnership she has achieved at her law firm. Yet, all seemed normal and I felt the fool for my suspicions.
That same night I caught a glimpse of my wife's white breast before she slipped her silk nightgown over her head, it had what I assumed to be a dark purple hickey upon its normally unmarked surface. I couldn't sleep a wink that night.
Yesterday I sat in my car, following her from our home to her office, and then back to our home. Obsessive right - but if she was cheating on me, it had to be with someone?
My wife has changed these last weeks - she cut her long thick hair, the first time since before I knew her, so it was short and stylish. Sure it looked good, but why cut it now... and so unexpectedly? Then there was the lingerie - and I mean always. Stockings, always thigh high, lace panties and bra, sometimes a chemise. Then there was the skirts, never below the knee and always taunt upon her shapely ass. I'm not sure if I've seen her wear anything but a short skirt within the last month.
Last night I purposely strode into our private bathroom and found my wife drying herself before the filled tub. Catherine always enjoyed a lengthy bath on a Friday night. I pretended that I didn't know the bathroom was occupied, as I always granted her the privacy she craved for her baths, and started to back out. Then I looked down and my blood turned cold when I saw that her normally well-trimmed but full brown pussy was gone.
I didn't sleep a wink last night.
Who was shagging my wife?
Saturday I didn't go golfing, as I normally do, so depressed was I. And Catherine didn't go out so I didn't think there was a way to find her mystery lover unless she left the house.
So I just sat and watched sports.
Doug woke up late, as usual, and sat next to me on the couch for a while - watching football. Then he got up, showered and left the house like it was on fire. All perfectly normal, of course.
Catherine was upstairs, singing beautifully to herself as she stripped down the beds and cleaned the upper level of our home. I've offered to get someone to help with the chores, she always said she enjoyed doing the mindless work - helped her escape from the stress as a corporate lawyer.
What will help me escape from this maddening weight of my life feeling like it was coming to an end.
With slow heavy steps I went upstairs as Catherine had gotten most of the bed sheets to the basement and I could hear her singsong voice distantly through the heating system. The laundry room was downstairs, and I knew she would be working in the basement for at least the next thirty minutes.
Our home was pretty big for the three of us - and I've worked incredibly hard these last dozen years that we've lived here, just to enjoy it. It had five bedrooms - only two are occupied. The third is used as an office for my wife and I. The last two as spare bedrooms.
The two bedrooms had the doors wide open and the windows wide, letting in fresh air. Doug's bedroom was an organized mess, as any sixteen year olds should be; with model world war two aeroplanes hanging in the corner, from a large quantity of various books on the shelf, old hockey trophies, his computer, a pile of clothes... all normal.
I stopped before I passed the doorway and looked into his room carefully.
Something had stopped me and I wasn't sure what.
I went into my son's room and looked around - I don't come in here much, but it all appeared normal. Next to his desk stood what was obviously a computer case - what was that next to his monitor then? Two computers?
That couldn't be what I had seen, as the computer case next to his desk was hidden from the hallway. No, was something else.
There - upon the bedside table - a razor in a drinking glass.
Why was that peculiar?
Doug doesn't shave.
It had dried white shaving cream and several hairs stuck between the blades - he hadn't cleaned it after it was used. Those hairs - thick brown, some gray... curly... !
It couldn't be. Doug and his mother? Impossible.
My heart was racing and my legs wanted to run out of there - to escape these ludicrous thoughts that I was having. Catherine and her son!
Unconsciously I backed out of the room and down the hallway - somehow I ended up in the garage fumbling to open my Jaguar's door.
I never even went back till late Saturday night - drunk. At first I thought to confront the two - already convinced that it was real. The whore! She will ruin everything in her life for her taboo relationship - I will kick the bitch out of my home.
How I drove home in that shape, is a miracle.
The house was dark and my bedroom silent. I lay upon it and let the tears flow.
I don't know when I awoke - but my cloudy mind was clearer and the pain in my soul renewed. I was still alone.
My head spun as I stood but with patience and determination, I was able to make it to the bathroom. I pissed and then puked my guts out. When I stood before the mirror and brushed my teeth, I saw the note stuck to the mirror.
"Honey. Taking Doug to his friends and then going to Marys' -
back late. C"
Then it hit me - what if I had put two and two together and come up with three? A middle-aged mother and professional wife wouldn't sleep with her own adolescent son would she? Crazy. My wife was too smart to do something illegal and immoral as that!
My head pounded as I hung upon this theory - I stumbled back to Doug's room.
I saw that my wife had made the bad, closed the windows and tidied up the clean clothing.
The cup with the soiled razor was gone.
I spun about for a minute, lost in the organized mess, wondering what I was doing here. It was all a figment of my imagination after all!
If Catherine was shagging someone, and all the signs told me she was, it couldn't be with Doug.
I turned the monitor on - already noticing that the box was running.
I'm a Systems Analyst currently, but I was once a programmer - I changed my career solely for the money. My son used Windows while I was used to various Unix operating systems - for some reason I found it comforting for his choice, as it made my nosey peeking that much easier.
I stole through the desktop in a matter of minutes. Nothing untoward.
Then I opened his mail - finding hundreds of correspondence from his friends, a couple from his teachers and a few from my wife or I. I looked in the latest email - from his friend Pero:
"Hey shitforbrains. Sorry you couldn't make it. Who is the girl
you are poking now anyway?"
That black sinking feeling was returning.
I organized the mail by sender and looked at the last from my wife:
"Hi honey. I bought the razor like you told me too - doing these
things for you makes me feel so horny baby. Your father came to
the office today, he might be getting suspicious - you keep saying
he won't be a problem but I am worried. I love you darling and I
want you. PS - I'm going to miss my pussy!"
That was the final proof to disintegrate my life, as my heart turned to clay and my soul clouded with oil.
What I told myself was impossible was happening - she was a willing participant, the bitch!
I kept searching, don't ask me why, looking through my son's web cache, the temporary files and then manually searching the file system.
I read more of my wife's email, several which were much more graphic and obviously intended for our son. It seems that she loved the taste of his sperm, if what she wrote can be believed - though she had never felt the need to even sample my own.
Then I came across an earlier email from Pero:
"... no such thing as mind-control buddy! What makes you think
you have a drug that works?"
I returned my son's computer and room to how I found it.
With a cold determined heart I went through my home - looking for drugs that was alluded to in the email. What would they look like, these pills? Were they pills?
Could this be how Doug seduced his mother? Was there such a thing as 'mind-control' - its all science fiction wasn't it?
My son had a large collection of keepsakes in the basement - mostly old toys, clothing and books. But since I was searching my home like a madman, I immediately noticed that one of the boxes on the top of the pile had none of the thick dust that its neighbours had.
I pulled it from the pile and bent over as I opened the lid. Inside was several binders, a few vials of clear liquid and a small box of Polaroids.
.... There is more of this story ...