I wonder if anyone has ever done a survey on how husbands find out that their wives are cheating. A suspicion that causes him to look into her activities? Something overheard at a social gathering? A good friend who tells him something that the friend thinks he should know? What percentage would be because the wife or girlfriend of her lover found out and dropped a dime on the couple? I'm betting that a survey would show that the majority would find out the same way I did - by accident.
Madeline and I met in college, had a brief but very satisfying affair, and then went on our separate ways. Three years after graduation we ran into each other at a cocktail party, reconnected and started dating. Six months later I asked her to marry me and she said yes. Two years later we had a three-bedroom house, two cars and a cottage on a lake.
We had both decided early on that neither of us would be willing to give up our careers to raise children and in truth I don't believe that either of us would have been any good as a parent. So, in order to make our sex life more enjoyable and trouble free I had a vasectomy. To make sure that it took I went in once a month for six months and had my sperm tested. The first test showed that I was no longer able to procreate and the next five tests were just to verify that I stayed that way.
A couple of years went by and Mad and I climbed the corporate ladder, each of us doing well in our chosen fields. The higher up the ladder we climbed the more responsibilities we took on and eventually we both reached a point where travel became part of our jobs. It wasn't too bad for me; I only had to travel on the average of twice a month and was usually only gone for two or three days, but Mad was gone for a week to ten days when she traveled. Granted, she only had to travel once every six weeks or so, but I did hate for her to be gone almost two weeks at a time. Mad's trips were always to Boston and I once jokingly said she should find a place and set up housekeeping since she spent so much time there.
We had been married a little over eight years when I made my accidental discovery. I had a lunch date with Madeline and I swung by her office to pick her up. Gloria, her secretary, told me that Mad had been called into a meeting and had left word for me to wait for her in her office, that she wouldn't be long.
The nice thing about Mad's tenth floor office was that she had a view. I walked over to the window and looked out for a bit and then turned to go back and sit on one of her office chairs. Madeline had one of those large calendar pads on her desk and as I turned my eyes swept the desk and I noticed that in large black letters she had marked Boston in the box for the 24th. She hadn't mentioned that trip to me yet.
With my eyes on the desk pad I wasn't watching where I was going and I bumped into the wastebasket and knocked it over and some trash spilled out. I bent over and bent to pick up the trash and put it back in the basket and one of the things I picked up was an envelope with SWAK printed across the back flap. I hadn't seen that since junior high and I wondered who was sending Mad things with the initials for "Sealed With A Kiss" printed on it. I turned it over and saw that it was addressed to Ms. Madeline Beckman, not Mrs., and it was sent to her work address and not her home address. I looked through the trash and found three crumpled sheets of paper with the same handwriting on them as the envelope and curiosity got the best of me and I put the three pages and the envelope in my pocket. I picked up the rest of the trash and went over and sat down in one of the chairs. My butt no sooner hit the seat cushion than Madeline walked in.
"Sorry to keep you waiting honey, but Brian got a wild hair up his ass over quality control and called a meeting."
"No problem. I just got here a couple of minutes ago. Shall we go or do you need to stick around?"
"No sticking around honey, I need to get out of here so lets go."
Lunch was leisurely and we talked about our plans for the coming weekend and talked some about the boat she wanted to buy for use when we went up to our cottage on the lake. I dropped her back at her office and then headed back to mine.
I sat down at my desk and took the envelope and three sheets of paper out of my pocket and spread them out on my desk. I smoothed out the sheets and noticed that the writer had obligingly numbered the pages and so I put them in order and started to read them. The letter started out, "My dearest Madeline," and I won't bother to spell out the rest of it. It will suffice to say that it was a love letter from someone named Trace. He wrote about how he could not wait to see her again and hold her in his arms and love her like she deserved to be loved.
My jaws got tighter and tighter as I read the letter and it was probably a good thing for Madeline and Trace that I couldn't get my hands on either one of them just then, especially after I read when I got to the top of page three.
"I have your appointment set up at the clinic for 10 AM on the 20th. I wish we didn't have to do this my love, but as much as I hate it I can see where you feel you must do it. I really think you should give some thought to having your tubes tied when they do the procedure so we won't have to worry about this happening again."
Trace thoughtfully included the clinic's phone number so Mad could call them if she decided to have her tubes tied. It didn't take a genius to figure out just what the "procedure" was that he referenced in the letter - Madeline was pregnant!
From the letter I gathered that Madeline and Trace had been seeing each other for some time and I remembered jokingly telling Madeline that she should set up housekeeping in Boston since she spent so much time there. It looked like she had gone and done just that. It explained why she always wanted me to call her on her cell phone instead of the hotel where she was supposed to be staying.
The evidence was there - lying on my desk - my wife was cheating on me. My wife was an unfaithful whore. The question was what was I going to do about it?
I wrestled with the problem for the rest of the afternoon. I sat at my desk and stared at the wall as I rolled it over and over in my mind and I thought about it as I drove home. I loved Madeline, I really did love her and most of my thoughts were along the lines of how I could handle the mess and still have Madeline and I remaining together.
By the time I pulled in to my driveway I had come to realize that remaining together with Madeline was a pipe dream. There wasn't anyway I could remain with Madeline after finding out that she had cheated on me; I just was not wired that way.
Madeline usually beat me home and had dinner on by the time I got there and that night was no exception. There were candles on the table and a bottle of wine cooling in the ice bucket on the counter. I knew what that meant and sure enough Mad told me over dinner:
"I'm flying to Boston on the 19th and I'll be gone for two weeks so I need you to work your ass off sweetums. You have to give me enough to hold me until I can get home. You have plenty of vitamins I hope?"
I sat there, smiled at her and told her I would do my best as I ran through the scenario in my mind. Her calendar had said Boston on the 24th. Fly out on the 19th, go to the clinic on the 20th, use the 21st, 22nd and 23rd to recover and then report to work on the 24th.
Trace would no doubt fuck her the night of the 19th and probably one last time before she reported in to the clinic on the 20th. After that I didn't know. Having no experience in that area I had no way of knowing how soon after the procedure she could have sex again, but I was guessing it would be at least a month. Madeline always came home from her trips ready to drag me into the bedroom telling me that she needed to play catch up and I wondered what kind of excuses she would have for not wanting to have sex when she returned from her trip.
Madeline interrupted my thoughts when she said, "Come on sweetums, dessert will be served upstairs in the bedroom."
As I followed her sweet looking ass up the stairs I wondered what the deal was. Our sex life was great, at least from my standpoint, and Mad did not seem any less loving or affectionate so where had I lost her? And what was the deal with trying to fuck me to death just before she went on her trips? We went from our normal twice a night, three or four nights a week to every night as many times as she could get me up and she did it knowing that she was going to step off the plane and be fucking Trace before the sun came up the next day.
"You first sweetums," she said as she stood me next to the bed and started undressing me. "You first and then you can heat me up and then we will see how long you can stay with me."
The woman could give blow jobs. They were the best I'd ever had and I was definitely going to miss them when she as gone. She licked and sucked and played with my balls while a finger teased my asshole. She was looking up into my eyes as her head bobbed up and down and damned if I could see anything in her eyes that told me she wasn't mine anymore. I felt the build up and I tapped her lightly on the head. It was the signal that I was ready to cum. She always swallowed but she didn't like to be surprised. She sucked every last drop out of me and then she got on the bed and spread her legs wide.
.... There is more of this story ...