After twenty years of marriage, you can read the signs. Cynthia was preoccupied much of the time. She had to work late a several times a month. Her interest in her family seemed perfunctory, at best. I had hoped it was a phase, or a chemical, or hormonal thing that women go through. After a few months of hoping, I decided it was time to learn the truth, regardless of the pain that went with it.
The agency came very highly recommended. They were thorough, discreet, and very professional. I met with a manager for an hour and told him my fears and suspicions. Then I gave him a pretty good chunk of cash I had stashed away over the years.
Originally, I was saving the money on the side to take Cynthia on a nice vacation for our twentieth anniversary. That was before the nagging doubts surfaced. Now I was spending the money on detectives to follow Cynthia and report any "inappropriate activity" back to me.
'Inappropriate' encompasses such a wide range of activities. The truth was, I wanted to know if she was having an affair, and the agency understood that was what I wanted to know. We used euphemisms because it was less embarrassing, but we all knew the deal.
"I have to work late tonight, Gil. Feed the girls and don't wait up for me, okay?" blurted Cynthia as she headed for the door. I dropped my spoon into the cereal, and then dropped a bomb in her lap.
"You can make me believe it's work when you do it with me, Cynthia, but I think it's anything but work when you stay out late and do it. Or do you get paid for it?" I asked calmly.
Cynthia stopped dead in her tracks. She stood with her back to me for the count of ten and then she slowly turned around. Her face was unreadable. That would have been more proof, if I had needed it. An innocent woman would have spun around madder than hell.
'Just what are you saying, Gil? Are you suggesting something?" she asked.
"Well, yeah! If it is work you're doing, you should get paid for it. We could buy a new car if you had been charging," I replied.
"For what, exactly, should I be charging?" she countered.
It was the old 'admit nothing till the other guy shows all of his cards gambit' she had mastered over the years. I had played a few of those games and my cards were going to be slow in turning.
"I fully expect you would know better than I, Darling. Do you want me to draw up a price list so you know what to charge?" I shot back. "I guess a hand-job could be $25, a blow-job about $50, standard sex $100 and anal could be $150. I never actually paid for it, but we have to start somewhere. Want to make any revisions?"
"Have you lost your mind, Gil?" snarled Cynthia. "Do you think I'm walking the downtown streets when I work late? You need to get some help. That was a really cruel thing to say."
"Are you telling me you are not going to have sex tonight?" I asked bluntly.
"That's for goddamn certain, not after the way you just spoke to me, asshole!" retorted Cynthia. "Not tonight and not the foreseeable future."
"That's good to hear, Cynthia. There's no excuse for you to come home late then, is there?" I reasoned. "As long as you're taking the night off, you can be home at a decent hour. I'll make dinner and you can help clean up afterward."
Cynthia just stood there, mouth open but no words forming. Then she turned and left.
That evening I was taking the roast chicken out of the oven when Cynthia entered the kitchen. One glance at her told me she had a change of heart.
"I guess I have been working late quite a bit lately. You and the girls deserve more attention, Gil," Cynthia admitted. "I'm taking you up on your offer. It sure smells good."
Cynthia was a very attractive 42-year old woman. Time had only improved her curves. She looked great. When she was in the right mood, she was a lot of fun. That was the first 19 years of our marriage. It was only the past six months that she had become distant and aloof. Before that she had been a wonderful friend, lover, and companion. That was what really made the present situation so difficult.
We had a pleasant dinner, as a family. As I listened to our two daughters talk with their mother, I realized how much she meant to them. They loved their dad, but they shared things with their mother a man can't really understand. Shopping is much like water torture. Talking about shopping is more agony than a man should be expected to endure. The three of them managed it throughout the entire meal!
When we went to bed that night, Cynthia slid in with only her panties on. That had always been a signal that she was looking for a little love. The thing was, I wasn't even close to being in the mood.
"I thought you said you weren't going to have sex tonight," I reminded her. "You told me not in the foreseeable future, as I recall."
"You were behaving so oddly this morning. Your comments were less than kind and I got angry," Cynthia confessed. "I thought about it and realized it was probably frustration on your part. We haven't had the time to be intimate in a while. That is at least partly my fault, Gil. I don't want you to think I don't love you."
"Then you do love me, Cynthia?" I asked. "It has been three weeks, two days since we made love. It didn't seem to bother you."
"Wow! You have been keeping track? I didn't realize it has been so long, but I will make it up to you tonight, okay?" she smiled.
"Are you saying you do love me, Cynthia?" I repeated.
"Of course I do! You are the only man I have ever loved, or ever will," avowed Cynthia. "You know that."
"Would it be reasonable to think that if you loved me you would be faithful to me, totally?" I continued.
"Absolutely, Sweetheart," she answered. "Why are you asking these questions? You seemed to suggest this morning that I was having sex with someone, and it sounds like you are again tonight."
"You are totally faithful to me, Cynthia. You like being married to me and don't want to play the field?" I pressed.
"Yes! I am, but I am really beginning to resent your line of questioning," snapped Cynthia. "You've spoiled my mood."
"That's a real fucking shame," I growled back. "These may put you back in the mood. They're quite stimulating!"
I had reached under my pillow and pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it in front of Cynthia. I saw her hand tremble as she picked it up and slid its contents out.
Cynthia gasped as she looked at the pictures. She was the star, along with one Kurt Dugan, a fellow teacher at the local elementary school. They were in color and the quality was excellent. Her lips appeared to be cherry red as she wrapped them around his hard cock. You could see the moisture around her pussy as he readied his cock for entry. She had to admit they were good!
Cynthia quickly looked at the picture and flung them toward the wastebasket. The she started crying. I wasn't feeling all that well either, but my tears had already been shed. I sat in bed and waited. It took almost ten minutes, but Cynthia finally stopped her sobbing and was able to speak.
"Gil, it was just a fling. I don't love him. I love you! Please forgive me. I'm so sorry!" she blubbered.
"You just agreed that if you loved me, you would be faithful to me. Now you're telling me you can fuck around and still love me. I'm having a little trouble following your logic, Cynthia," I admitted. "Which is it?"
"I was lying to keep you from being hurt! The sex was just that. No love, no real connection. It was a biological function. That's all," she reasoned.
"You mean like shitting all over me is a biological function? I shouldn't take it personally?"
"Gil, please think this over before you do anything rash," pleaded Cynthia. "I could lose my job. Kurt could lose his job, and his marriage. His parents are our neighbors. All kinds of terrible things could happen!"
"Is this something you just realized, Cynthia, or did you expect to have all those things happen when you were caught?" I demanded. "Whose fault would it be, if you and Kurt were both fired, both divorced, and both embarrassed in front of your families? Whose fault, Cynthia?"
"Ours. Kurt's and mine, really," sobbed Cynthia. "No one would blame you."
"Was the sex that good, that much better than with me? If it wasn't love, was it about great sex?" I suggested.
"It wasn't better, Gil. It was like when we first dated. It was exciting. He isn't better than you, just different. I'll tell him I can never see him again, okay?" Cynthia begged.
"What the hell kind of prick do you think I am? It would pretty damn selfish to stand between you and some great sex, wouldn't it? I've had a couple weeks to think about this situation and I've come up with a solution," I replied.
"My God! You've known for a couple weeks? You never let on. I had no idea!" moaned Cynthia.
"Actually, I've been suspicious longer than that. I have shut you off for three weeks and two days. Sadly, you haven't noticed. That speaks a lot about our situation, doesn't it? If I hadn't been so bitchy this morning, it may have gone on for years with Kurt getting all your best, and me getting shit upon."
"I wasn't thinking straight, Gil. I didn't mean to neglect you. It would never have gone on for years, I swear. It was just a fling," assured Cynthia.
"Interesting comment, Cynthia. How long is the shelf life of one of your affairs? What is your average? A few months? A year? Several years?" I asked angrily.
.... There is more of this story ...