Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Cheating, Slut Wife, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Was he cheating? was she? Misinformation can be a killer.
(Sigh) I guess that I had better get to it. My mind is a mess of jumbled emotions. My problem, you see, is my marriage. You notice I did not say my wife, I'm not so foolish to place all of the blame for our unhappiness on her. I'm sure that I share at least part of that blame, although her reaction to our unhappiness was extreme, to say the least.
Ok, from the beginning. My name is Paul Rieger. I'm 49, yeah, I'll be 50 in a few months. I know it's silly, but it is kind of scary. Damn, half a century. My wife is Emily and she just turned 46, but you would never know it. She is almost fanatic about keeping fit. She is at the fitness center of our club every morning. Aerobics, weight training, all of that crap. Anyway, I have to admit, she does look great. If I told you that she was 36, you wouldn't have any trouble believing it.
As for me, I just don't appreciate the scene at the club. It's not that I'm a couch potato, I make sure that I do my run every morning before my shower, so I am fit, I don't carry around more than a few extra pounds and on my 6' frame it's not at all noticeable.
I first met Emily at a company Christmas party. I had just started working there in sales. I had graduated from college with a major in marketing and I felt lucky that I had landed a job with a great company. I was new and I was stag at the party. It wasn't long before I began to notice this girl, mainly because the schmuck she was with was getting drunker than a skunk and she was standing there burning. Damn, she looked gorgeous, tall, about 5'7', honey blonde hair, brown eyes, and built like... I dunno, like a girl should be built.
By the end of the evening, her date was passed out on a sofa and I had spent the better part of the party talking to and dancing with Emily. We seemed to click. It wasn't long before I felt that I had known her forever and I knew that I wanted to see her again.
Oh, yes. Her name at the time was Emily Kramer, you know, like in Seinfeld. We used to laugh at that. She was a nurse and had just started work at the local hospital. I drove her home that night, asked her for her number, and called her. We dated and, I think it was on the third or fouth date, we came back to her apartment and almost fell into each others arms. Jeez, she was as hot for me as I was for her.
Before I knew what was happening, her jeans and top were on the floor and I was holding this gorgeous, almost naked blond in my arms on the sofa. She was still in her bra and panties and the sight of her black underwear almost made me lose it. For some reason I get excited by black panties and bra, go figure. Then, without a word, she stood and took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom.
She stood by the bed and did a strip tease, I know, I know, she didn't have much to strip, but the way she removed that black bra and those black panties made me salivate. I don't think she was naked more than three seconds before I had stripped and tackled her to the bed. Yeah, I know - not very romantic, but, jeez, was I in lust with this lovely creature at that moment.
That first time in bed was pure fucking. No romance, no foreplay, I just stuck my cock into her pussy and it slid right in, she was as wet as a swamp. We just pounded each other. She had her first orgasm about ten seconds later and continued with a few more until I lost control and came. We just lay there, holding each other and not too much later we started again, only this time we made love.
It wasn't long before I realized that the lust was love. One thing led to another and I proposed to her a couple of months later.
The kids came along quickly, one after the other. We have two, Amy and Rachel, two girls who are the sweetest, smartest, prettiest heartbreakers in the world. I think you get the idea that I'm nuts about them. They're both in college and interning at the same company. Unfortunately, their school is on the other coast, so it's difficult for them to get home often. We do fly out to visit them as often as we can.
So, Emily and I have been married now for over 20 years. The first years were a little tough, money wasn't a major problem, but we didn't really have enough to throw around. We tried to be frugal, we wanted to save for a down payment on a house. I guess that's the dream of every young couple. Living in an apartment, especially with two young children, is not exactly a dream come true.
Anyway, I had been doing well in my job, had gotten a promotion, so with the money we had put aside, we were able to afford a nice Cape Cod style house, You know, two bedrooms and a bath upstairs, two bedrooms and a bath downstairs. It was nice and we loved it. Emily also enjoyed being a stay at home Mom which was fine with me. I'm kind of old fashioned, I liked the fact that the girls had their mother at home.
I can't even begin to tell you how happy we were. I was working really hard, trying to be successful and Emily had her hands full raising the girls and taking care of the house. But with all of that, we were happy as pigs in slop. The kids were great, my wife was gorgeous, my job was good - what more could I ask for?
So, the years flew by. I became more and more wrapped up in my career. About five years ago I was appointed national sales manager. Our income really shot up and we moved up into a new, larger house in a country club development. With that came increased responsibility. I also had to travel a bit more. No, no, don't get the wrong idea. I wasn't gone all of the time. I had to make trips perhaps three or four days out of the month; it really was no big deal, and Emily never made a fuss about that. She realized that in order for us to live as well as we did, I had to make the occasional trip. She never gave me any grief about that.
My life was about perfect. I loved my kids and they loved me. I loved my wife and she loved me. Shit, it was like a TV sit-com. We were all like Ozzie and Harriet, if you remember that show. Then, I guess it started about,... ahhh, maybe about a year ago, perhaps a little less, things at home started going downhill.
It was about the time both girls were away at college. It was really very gradual. So gradual that I didn't even notice it at the time. You know, a snippy remark, an impatient reply, an occasional lack of response in bed. Not all of the time, and not terribly frequent, but enough, now that I think about it, to cause a tiny bit of tension at home.
It was also about that time that I got involved in a weekly poker game. A few of the executives at work decided that it would be fun to play Texas Hold Em once a week at a local bistro. Sam Meecham, the head of marketing, knew the owner of this place and he arranged it so that we could use the back room for our poker game. The owner would benefit, we would be buying drinks and food while we played, so it looked like everyone would be happy. So the weekly game consisted of six of us from work. Sometimes Tim Shukay, from accounting, would show up. He was the only single guy, so he was more interested in chasing pussy than poker. The stakes were not really high and no one would get hurt financially.
I didn't think that Emily minded. She knew that this would relieve some of the stress that my job generated. I just wonder if she really did mind, but didn't say anything. Who knows.
Emily always had a tendency to keep her thoughts to herself, and if she did get upset, it was always difficult for anyone to get her to talk about it. I still believe that a major part of our problem was Emily's inability to face and discuss things that bothered her. She would just sublimate them and stew over them.
I tried to talk to Emily about how things seem to bother her. I tried to tell her to just get her feelings out, put it all on the table. I remember one conversation...
"Em, put the book down, I'd really like to talk."
I remember Emily looking up at me, a look of consternation on her face. Remember, when things seem to turn emotional she retreated. By emotional, I mean things that were upsetting to her, and the more upsetting, the further she would retreat.
"Talk about what, Paul? What's the problem?"
"We seem to be drifting apart, Em. We snap at each other, we don't seem to have conversations anymore. We're getting to be like strangers who live in the same house." I complained.
Emily became impatient and it showed. "Paul, stop being ridiculous, We're old married people, not newlyweds. There's nothing wrong with our relationship, as long as we remember our wedding vows."
See, it's statements like that that drove me nuts.
"What, what about our wedding vows? What's that got to do with what I'm talking about?" My voice went up an octave.
"Enough Paul, I don't want to discuss this nonsense," she snapped as she retreated within herself and returned to her book, but not before I noticed that her eyes had filled with tears.
See what I mean? Emily, despite her inate intelligence and common sense, always backed away from anything that might be emotionally disturbing. It isn't as if she just refused to acknowledge that there may be a problem, it's just that she refused to face it and get it thrashed out. But she would internalize it and let it become like a figurative festering sore.
I sighed, rose and went outside for a breath of air...
It seems that as the months went by, that tiny bit of tension at home got worse. We each tried to get on an even keel, but for some reason, never could. Any discussion about our relationship always seemed to end up in a fight.
After awhile, we were both afraid to bring the subject up; so it festered and got worse. Jeez, as I think about it, it really sounds stupid. How could a marriage as happy and loving as ours founder because of a lack of communication? The problem was that we were communicating too much and our communication consisted of terrible arguments. And yes, I certainly didn't help the situation; I would get so pissed that I also ended up contributing to the argument.
Many nights I would awake to hear Emily as she cried quietly into her pillow. I wanted to reach out to her, but was afraid to. Who knew how she would react if I touched her.
Anyway, about a few months ago or so, Emily really started to get involved with a women's literature group that some of the gals at the country club had formed. They were appalled, just appalled at the required reading list at our local high school. They were going to provide "input" as to what should be added to that list. They were also going to read the "classics" and discuss them amongst themselves. Wonderful.
You know, now that I think about it, I encouraged her to participate and I realize now why I was so enthusiastic about her getting involved. It would mean she would be out of the house one evening a week. I wouldn't have to worry about starting a fight, or listening to her smart mouth. Also, once a week I would be out of the house at my poker game. Great, two evenings a week would be peaceful for me. Then, a couple of weeks later the group decided that one evening was not enough for these important deliberations. They would meet twice a week, Yippee, three night a week of peace. Damn, what kind of marriage is that?
Ok, this is when the fucking ceiling fell in on me. It was just one incident, but I didn't know what to do, or better yet, I was afraid to do anything. It happened on a Thursday - Emily was dressing to go to the club for that women's thing. I just happened to pass by the bedroom and saw her in her undies. Ok, big deal, I peeked. Don't forget, she still looks gorgeous. She was wearing a black bra and black bikini panties. Yum, delicious.
Oh, yeah. I had better interject something here about our sex life. Ha, I ask, what sex life? We had always been very active sexually. You name it, we did it (well, almost). Sex used to be frequent and varied. Shit, until our problems started, we used to screw a lot. Oh, not like when we were young, but still we got together at least two to three times a week, and it was always great. Emily's sexual appetite was as strong as mine and we used to indulge ourselves, but as our personal problems intensified, our sexual encounters decreased until, now, the only pussy I would get would be if I put hair around my fingers. Yeah, in other words it's a lot less stress to jack-off. It had gotten to the point that I didn't even want to try to approach her.
Now back to the black undies incident. I peeked, saw her in her black panties and bra and felt a woodie start. Nope, that wasn't going to do me a bit of good, so I just proceeded past and made believe that I saw nothing. I did wonder why the black underwear for a women's literature meeting, but put it out of my mind. Who the hell knows why women do what they do anyway?
She took off about 7 and I made myself comfortable in front of the TV. I hit the sack before 11, wanting to be in bed and pretend sleep before she came home. I awoke to the sound of Emily entering the house and saw that it was after 1 a.m. but fell asleep again and didn't wake until the following morning.
I want to say right off that I'm not like the typical husband that does squat around the house. Even though I work hard in my job I help when I can. We don't depend on full time help in terms of cleaning, etc. We do have a crew that comes in once a week, but the rest of the time Emily takes care of things, and I pitch in where I can. One of the things that I do is the laundry. Not on a all of the time basis, but when I see the hamper start to get full I will, sometimes, throw a wash in.
Ok, the next day, Friday, I happened to take the afternoon off. I was just pissed at a sales team half way across the country, and had just finished chewing the lead honcho out about their performance the last quarter. I was in a foul mood and decided to take off. I just wanted to chill out around my pool for the afternoon. I pulled in my driveway and went into the house. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Emily wasn't home. You see what state our marriage had fallen into?
I entered the bedroom and quickly divested myself of my suit and shirt, putting on a swim suit. Seeing that the hamper was full, I thought I'd be a nice guy and throw the dark stuff into the washer, so getting the laundry basket I started to sort through the laundry. I saw Emily's bra, but couldn't find the panties. I stood back puzzled, I saw her in the bra and panties last night, so they should be in the hamper. The bra was there, but no panties. You see where my thoughts were going? Where the fuck were her panties??
You know that old cliche "my knees turned to water?" It may be a cliche, but damn, that's exactly what happened to me. I found that I couldn't stand. I had to sit down on the toilet seat. Could Emily actually be cheating?? What explanation could there be for her to come home without her panties? I was shocked at how hurt and devastated I felt.
I felt my eyes fill with tears, I just couldn't believe that she would do that to us. Despite all of the problems we were having, the thought of cheating on Emily never entered my head. You just don't cheat on someone you love. Yes, I still loved her, in fact, was still crazy about her. So if she could do that to me, she obviously did not love me anymore, and that thought just about destroyed me.
What other explanation could there be? She goes out with panties and comes home without them. Then I also suddenly remembered that she had come home that night after 1 a.m. That scenario doesn't leave a lot of room for many explanations. I felt sick to my stomach, but I knew that, despite my fears, there could be an innocent reason for her panties being missing. Shit, she could have peed herself and just tossed them. Thinking about that made perfect sense to me, at least it made me feel a little better. I ignored the fact that she came home so late.
I put the laundry back in the hamper and tried to put the whole incident to the back of my mind. Actually, I was too much of a coward to explore it, I just didn't want to know. The rest of the day was uneventful and Emily and I managed to get through an evening without any vitriol.
If this incident caused the ceiling to come crashing down, the next one changed my life dramatically. The next day, a Saturday, I went into the office for about an hour to clean up some loose ends. Heading home, I stopped at the market for a couple of six packs and ran into Helen Berg. She comes gushing up to me and asks how Emily is feeling. I didn't know what to say, so I just told her that she was fine. She then lets me know that they were concerned because no sooner had the meeting begun on Thursday that Emily stated that she really didn't feel well and had to leave. They all hoped that she was ok.
I put the beer down and walked out to my car. I sat and just stared ahead sightlessly. My worst fears were confirmed, there was no doubt in my mind. Emily was cheating on me. My thoughts were chaotic, why?? how long?? did she hate me that much?? As I look back at that moment, what struck me was my lack of anger. I was just so hurt, so devastated, so overwhelmed with sorrow that there just wasn't room for anger at that exact moment.
I really believe that I became a different person during those moments in the car. My emotions started to shift; oh, the sorrow and sadness still pervaded my soul, but anger and bitterness started to creep in. The concept of cheating, the betrayal of one's spouse was so out of my ken that I couldn't encompass it. I knew that I could never do that to Emily and the fact that she could said volumes to me. I knew then that my marriage was over.
The next few days were strained, more so than usual. We wound up not even trying to communicate. The only words we uttered to each other was those that were absolutely necessary. I was relieved as hell when Monday rolled around and I went to work.
The next day was no different, except that when I came home I was reminded that the women's group was meeting that night and she might be home late. Yeah, late, I bet late. I had a plan, admittedly stupid, but a plan. I wanted hard evidence. I had hidden a voice activated tape recorder in her car. I know, I know, there were huge holes in the plan, but I'm no Sherlock Holmes. There was an outside chance I'd get something.
Guess what, zilch. All I got was some road noise; she didn't even turn the radio on. Shit. Funny though, she got home around 11, her usual time.
Ok, I finally wised up, I kinew what I had to do. I needed professional help. Wednesday morning saw me looking through the Yellow Pages. My finger stopped on AAA Investigative Services. Jeez, my heart was beating a mile a minute as I took up the phone. My call was answered on the second ring:
"Hello, Triple A Services, June Meyers."
"Uhhhh, can I speak with an investigator?" I mumbled.
"You are, sir. May I suggest that you come in and speak with me in person. I assure you that it would be easier."
Damn, she immediately picked up that I was nervous as hell and worked to set me at ease. She was right, it would be easier to sit down and speak with someone. The damn phone was too impersonal.
"Can I come in now?" I asked.
"Of course, I'm free now. May I have your name?"
I gave her my name and left the office, notifying my secretary that I would be out for a couple of hours.
I was soon seated before a very attractive woman who appeared to be in her early 50s. I explained my problem and she asked a few pertinent questions. She then asked to see a picture of Emily and took notes concerning Emily's schedule. I told her that the night in question was Thursday and would she be able to carry out a surveillance. I was assured that would be no problem, so after taking care of the fees, etc. I left it in her hands.
The next couple of days were absolute murder. I, to this day, don't know how I got through them. It took every bit of my self control not to throw up at the dinner table, dining with Emily. I saw her in a totally different light - I saw her as an adulteress. My only salvation was my work. We were busy as hell and that kept my mind occupied.
Friday, late afternoon, my secretary buzzed me to tell me that a June Meyers was on the phone. With my heart in my throat, I told her to put her through.
"Mr. Rieger, this is June Meyers. We have finished compiling the report you asked for and it is ready to be picked up."
Very circumspect, no one listening would be able to infer anything by this call.
"Tomorrow is Saturday, Ms Meyers. Can I pick up the report tomorrow morning?" I asked. I don't know why, but I just didn't want to see it until the next day.
"I'll be here at nine. I'll have the report for you as well as an oral explanation of our investigation, Mr. Rieger.
I thanked her and slowly lowered the phone. I found that I was trembling and I suddenly wondered if I even wanted to see that report. I wondered if I wanted to confront the ugly truth that may be awaiting me. I think that that night was truly the longest night of my life. I slept not one wink and I got out of bed while it was still dark. I quietly took care of washing, etc., dressed and made my way downstairs.
I made a pot of coffee, filled a mug and just sat in the kitchen with the mug of coffee in my hands. Did I drink it? Hell, I don't know. I do know that I just sat and stared - at nothing. Suddenly I noticed that it was light outside so I picked myself up and drove downtown. I waited in my car until their office opened.
June Meyers saw me enter and led me to a private office. She gazed at me with troubled eyes and I knew. I sighed and sat and waited.
"Mr. Rieger, we followed your wife from your home on Thursday evening. She did not drive to the country club. After tailing her in our van, we saw that she was headed for a northern suburb and it wasn't long before she pulled into the road leading to a Holiday Inn there. My associate, Bill Palmer, quickly donned a maintenance shirt with a Holiday Inn patch sewn into the pocket. We keep a range of hotel shirts of this type in the van.
"Bill was ready with his 'repair' satchel and we watched as she entered Room 113. Exactly ten seconds later, Bill knocked on the door, stating that he was from maintenance. He was admitted when he stated that there was a problem with the smoke alarm. He found a man in the room, but no sign of your wife. The bathroom door was closed so it was obvious that she was in there.
"Bill had a small step stool with him and he proceeded to 'repair' the smoke alarm. He, in fact, inserted a tiny camera and timer in the housing. It was set to take a photo every five minutes for the next hour. He replaced the housing, thanked the man in the room, and left. The room was vacated in approximately an hour and Bill entered the empty room and retrieved the camera. We also have the name of the man who was in the room.
I vaguely remember sitting there, listening to her. I knew that she was talking, I could see her lips move. I know that I had tuned her out right after being informed of Emily entering the hotel room. Suddenly, A glass of cold water was pushed into my hand. I was told to drink, which I did. It seemed to revive me a bit.
"Mr. Rieger, let's take a short break. I can imagine how upset you are. Sip the water, it will help."
So I sipped, and sipped and then sipped some more. I didnt want to leave. I never wanted to leave. I just wanted to sit there, for maybe the next ten or twenty years.
"Mr. Rieger, this envelope contained a full written report which gives details of the oral report you have just received. It also contains photographs, which I have to tell you, are very graphic. Do not open this until you are sure that you are alone.
"Mr. Rieger, do you understand? Are you sure that you're ok?" queried June Meyers.
I finally snapped out of my funk and accepted the envelope. I made the appropriate noises and got out of their as soon as I could. I could see June Meyers' reflection in the window. She was just sitting and shaking her head.
It was still early. I drove over to my office, no one would be there. I entered and sat at my desk and looked at the envelope. I opened it and the photographs slipped out. There were about ten or twelve of them.
The first one showed Emily, naked and in bed with a naked man. I recognized him; he was a member of the club. I remembered he was also a fitness nut. He was a good eight or ten years older than I, but in good physical condition. He was sucking on Emily's right breast.
The second photo showed the same thing, but from a different angle, they had moved a bit in the bed. I guess he liked Emily's breasts, he was now nibbling on the left one.
The next photo had his head between her thighs, his mouth open, his tongue between the lips of her pussy. She seemed wet, either from her arousal or his saliva, I couldn't tell.
The next photos showed him fucking her, but only in the standard missionary position. I thought, "not a very imaginative lover." I glanced at Emily's face. Her eyes were closed and there was no expression that I could interpret. I finally dropped the photos and picked up the report. Leafing through it, I saw that it told the same story that June Meyers had given me, but in greater detail.
I sat for awhile, and then arose, picked up the report and photographs and moved to the shredder. I methodically put the report, page by page, through the shredder. The photographs soon followed. Why did I do that? Damned if I know. I knew that I wasn't going to use them in court. I knew that I wasn't going to look at the report or the photographs again. Maybe I thought that by destroying the evidence, I could make believe I had never seen it in the first place. Make believe that Emily's adultery never happened. Guess what? it didn't work.
I drove home. The house was empty. Emily was at the club, working out. She would not be home until after lunch, well after lunch. I grabbed the suitcases and the long bar that fit over those hooks at the back seat of the car. I would hang all of my suits and sport jackets on that. I then methodically packed as much of my stuff as I could and put the bags near the front door. I took all of my suits, sport jackets, slacks etc. out to the car and hung them in the car. Next I took all of my stuff from the bathroom and threw it all in a plastic bag. I would sort through it later.
I looked around, the house seemed strange to me; it was almost as if I had never lived here. I was now facing an uncertain future - no wife, no home.
I felt the tears start and I thought to myself, "I am fucked, I am truly fucked."
I packed up my laptop and as much of my personal papers that I could and tossed it all in a box which I put in the trunk of my car. I returned to the house and sat in what used to be my chair in the living room and waited. It was now well after lunch, she should be home soon.
About a half hour passed and I just sat. I tried to think, but was unsuccessful. I couldn't put my thoughts in order. I did know that I had to find a place to live. A hotel, I guessed, at least for a short time. I would then look for an apartment. Then I started to think about furnishing it. What kind of living room furniture should I buy? Hmmm, should I get a queen or king bed? How about a small dinette set for the kitchen? You see what I mean? I'm sitting there mulling over totally inane crap. My mind just totally refused to think about my impending separation. (I couldn't even think of the word - divorce.)
The door opened and in strode Emily. She saw me sitting there and I guess I didn't look like the happiest person in the world. She just stood there, staring at me. She didn't even notice my bags sitting near the door.
"How long have you been fucking him?" I calmly asked.
Her face reddened and her lips compressed as she continued to stare at me.
"Drop dead" she snapped and proceeded to walk into the bedroom. I rose and picked up my suitcases.
"Wait," Emily shouted. "I guess she noticed that most of my clothes were gone from the room.
"What are you doing? Where are you going?" she asked in a thin voice.
I turned to her and said "drop dead," as I walked out of the door
I drove to the airport Hilton; I didn't know where else to go and I knew that I needed someplace to park myself, at least for a few days.
I left most of my stuff in the car, checked in and collapsed on the bed in the room. I felt so fucking tense, I thought I was going to have a stroke. Thank goodness no one was taking my blood pressure at that moment, they would have called 911 pronto.
"Gene McNally" I suddenly thought to myself. Gene owned a successful real estate office in town and I knew him fairly well from the club. Yeah, he belonged to the same club since he lived in our development.
I moved over to the phone, checked with information, and hoped that he would be in on a Saturday. Luck was with me, the person who answered the phone told me that he was in and transferred the call.
"Gene, this is Paul Rieger, you busy right now?" I began.
"Hey Paul, good to hear from you. How have you been?"
"Look Gene, it looks like I'm going to need a place to move to. One bedroom, two bedroom, I really don't care, but I would like to have it fairly close to work. Can you help?"
There was silence on the phone for a moment. "Shit, Paul. I can't tell you how sorry I am." It didn't take Gene long to figure out where I was coming from.
"Yeah, Gene. Shit happens. Can you help me?" I asked again.
"Paul, is this, maybe, for just a few days or weeks? If so I can probably find something for you, or you can just use a place like Extended Stay or Residence Inn."
"Gene," I explained calmly. "I need a more permanent place. Do you understand?"
"Shit. Yeah, I understand. Give me your number, I'll get back to you in an hour or so. Stay there, I have something in mind that may be for you."
True to his word, Gene called back in an hour.
"Paul, I have something in which you might be interested, but..."
"Ok, Gene, what's the but... ?"
"You would have to sign a yearly lease, but I think it's worth looking at. The kicker is, of course, that yearly lease. Are you sure you want to see it?"
"This afternoon ok, Gene?" I asked calmly. Sweat had broken out on my forehead.
"I'll pick you up in an hour, Paul," replied Gene.
We drove to an impressive high rise apartment building within walking distance to my office. We rode the elevator is silence. Gene just didn't know what to say to me and I didn't really want any conversation.
He unlocked the door to a unit on the 23rd floor and we entered. Shit,, the place was amazing, like something out of a design magazine. Gene showed me around to two bedrooms, two marble and glass bathrooms, a private wraparound balcony, you get the idea. To top it off, the place was completely furnished, down to a complete kitchen and towels and linens. It seems that the owner was living in Europe and wanted the place leased for a year. He would decide later if the lease was renewable. I didn't ask how much. I just turned to Gene and told him to draw up the lease papers. This place would do me fine. I think you get the idea that I'm far from poor. I didn't care what the place ran, I could afford it.
I was in my new digs by Monday morning and unpacked and settled in by Monday afternoon. Oh, yes - my cell phone had been a little busy on Sunday. Emily had called three times. I didn't answer. The fourth call I answered.
I didn't let her speak, I attacked. "Are you still fucking him"?
I knew who "him" was but I really didn't give a shit. The very fact that she was unfaithful was enough. I didn't want details, I didn't want to know how it began, I sure as hell didn't want a blow by blow description of how they fucked. My stomach heaved at the thought.
There was silence on the phone. I hung up before she could reply. She didn't call again.