Once again I must thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. Without those two wonderful people I don't think I would still be posting. As always I must also add that I can't leave a story alone. I could well have added some cock-ups after they have seen it and before it gets posted. That should keep the GPs happy at least.
How do you know your loving wife is cheating on you and shagging her private stud on the side? Well, there's only one answer to that. If you're a man that is? You don't know she's cheating. If you did know, you'd break some guy's head or something and divorce the bitch, wouldn't you?
But there comes a time in some men's lives when they suddenly discover what's been going on behind their back and that first discovery can come in the most unexpected way.
Take me for example. Sunday mornings were always the same back then. Stella, my wife, was out early playing golf with her little foursome. My foursome plays Saturday mornings. At one time we all played on the same day but some years back the girls decided that Saturday was better spent shopping. So they changed their day to Sundays.
I kinda staggered out of bed around nine. It was a good one that I'd hung on the previous evening. But I was certainly feeling it that morning. How the hell Stella had managed to get up at the time she did, god only knew. We hadn't got home until nearly three and then we had a good session. Stella gets, shall we say, aroused when she's had a few drinks.
I went into the kitchen and was pleased to see Stella had left the coffee on for me. Then I started cooking my Sunday morning fry up. Well, burn-up really; I'm not much of a cook. Sausage, eggs, bacon and a fried slice. I wouldn't get the fried bread if Stella were cooking it. "That's pushing it," she says.
I was sitting there enjoying my feast when something caught my eye. The bottle of tomato Ketchup I had just got out of the cupboard. The new bottle of tomato ketchup I'd had to open, because I'd finished the last one on Friday night after we got back from doing the weekly shopping. The new bottle of tomato ketchup that Stella had to get especially on Saturday in town because we had forgotten to get some in Asda on Friday. The bottle that had "Asda Smart Price" written on the label. When it should have "Morrisons Betta Buy" written there. That Asda label jumped out and bit me.
Stella had gone into town shopping with her girlfriends on Saturday morning as she always did and had supposedly picked up the ketchup whilst she was there. But the store in town was called Morrisons. The Asda supermarket was out on the bypass, completely in the wrong direction. Stella wouldn't have driven a nearly fifteen mile round trip to the Asda store just to pick up a bottle of ketchup; she would have picked it up in Morrisons in town. If she was window shopping in town with her friends all morning, why the hell would she go all the way to Asda for a bottle of tomato ketchup? We had been to Asda on Friday night for our weekly shop and she had brought a few things in the "George" clothes department; she said there was nothing else she fancied there. So why would she go back there?
Ah, well, I could only assume one of the other girls wanted something there and had almost forgotten about it until the following Wednesday. I was sitting in the office cafeteria at lunchtime when I overheard some guy's chatting on the next table. "Jesus, man, it's a right bloody knocking shop. You can't get a room there on the weekend for love nor money."
"Where is this again?" another voice asked.
"That new Motorlodge they've built on the bypass right next door to the Asda superstore. I wanted a room there on Saturday to take Ruby from dispatch for a couple of hours. But I couldn't get in there for love nor money," the first voice said.
"For a bloody good shag you mean. Look, if her old man catches you, you'll be in for the high jump. Did you hear about what happened to the last guy he caught her with?"
I stopped listening. After that my mind was doing a high jump itself. No, Stella wouldn't? Christ, we have been married nearly twenty-five bloody years. Stella loves me. And the children. She wouldn't, would she? But it would explain that bloody bottle of Asda tomato Ketchup. No, come on. This is bloody stupid. What the hell was making my mind even think it? But it did think it. The bloody thoughts wouldn't go away. Damn, I had to know but how was I going to find out?
All afternoon it played on my mind. I got home from work and whilst Stella prepared our evening meal I sat and looked at her. God, she was one fine looking woman. She got her figure back after having the kids and hasn't really lost it since. Yes, she'd put on a few pounds but it was nearly all in the right places. There weren't very many women that looked as good as she did at forty-five. Jesus she outshone all her friends. I'd seen their husbands looking at her, and I'd felt proud in the past. Now I was definitely feeling worried.
Stella asked me if I was feeling all right and I said I was fine, just a little tired. She gave me a cuddle and kiss and then suggested an early night wouldn't do me any harm. Well, that night was the first time in twenty-eight years that the little fella wouldn't stand up and play ball. Look, I'm usually good for two or three times on the trot even at my age; only the balls do tend to ache a bit if I go three times nowadays. I can remember when I could go seven times, during one night when we were first married. Mind the balls used to ache back then as well so I didn't push things too much.
But that night, nothing. Stella tried to reassure me, that it was probably just because I was working too hard and I said I was going have to see the Doc about it. But I knew what was really wrong. I had convinced myself that Stella was cheating on me. Stella tried again in the morning with a little oral. But he wasn't going to play. I was sure the little fella wasn't going to play again until I knew for sure what was going on.
For the next couple of days I bounced this thing around in my head. Could Stella be really running around behind my back? Well, to be honest, it was eating me up inside and I knew I had to talk to someone about in. So in the end I chose to talk it over with young Danny.
Danny wasn't that young really; but he was ten years younger than the rest of us. He was about 35 and, although he had been on my team for nearly twelve years, he was the youngest of them. He was divorced a couple of years ago when he caught his own wife messing around. I thought he was the best guy to bounce my suspicions off of.
Danny took things seriously straight away. He understood my concerns and suggested I follow Stella the next Saturday. Danny would take my place in my golf four. He had stood in before when one of the guys was on holiday or something. Then I could use his car to follow Stella; she wouldn't be able to recognise me as Danny's BMW had blacked out windows. Illegal in England of course, but the cops had given up stopping him after a while. So much for motoring law enforcement. But it was handy for me.
Saturday morning I was up early as usual and drove to the golf club to switch cars with Danny. By eight fifteen I was parked up the road to my house waiting to see what happened. Around nine Stella came out and got into her car. In theory she should go and collect her friends as I thought they carpooled on their Saturday sprees. But today she drove straight to the big car park in town. There she parked up in a quiet corner and sat there in the car waiting.
I parked where I could watch her and waited as well. After about ten minutes a car pulled across the front of her. I was getting quite worked up now. I didn't like where she had parked. It was over a quiet side of the car park furthest away from the shops. The car moved on again and Stella followed it over to the other side of the car park. Then they both parked beside each other. The doors of the other car opened and Stella's four shopping buddies got out. Then all five of them walked off towards the shops.
OK, you say. That proves my suspicions wrong. But something still wasn't quite right as far as I was concerned. Why had Stella taken her own car? I can remember they all five would travel together in the past. Why two cars today when they all lived it the same direction? It just didn't add up.
I sat there for three hours until they came back. Then I followed as both cars drove out to the Asda store on the bypass. They were in there for about three-quarters of an hour. Then they all came out and I followed Stella home. Feeling very stupid and much relieved I went back to the golf club and switched cars with Danny again before I went home. Stella welcomed me as she always did with a hug and kiss. Then surprisingly she wanted to go up and have a little session. Well, I've got to say it the little guy was feeling a lot happier than he had done all week, as he had kind of missed out on things and he was raring to go. So we nipped up and played for a couple of hours.
I think Stella was trying to kill me with love actually. I'd hardly got through the bedroom door when she had my trousers off and was sucking away on me at the same time as she removed her own clothes. Then she shoved me back on the bed climbed on and gave a good impression of a jockey trying to win the Grand National. Having won the race she swung into a 69 and proceeded to get me on duty again. Then surprisingly she announced she wanted me to take her back door and produced the lubricant.
.... There is more of this story ...