I stood there in the shadows watching them. Stunned? Oh no, much worse than stunned, I was destroyed. My wife of twenty-six years was naked and on her knees, in front of our living room couch, sucking him off. Him? He's her boss at the William's Travel Agency. I never had a clue.
I had decided to come home for lunch. Trace went home every day at noon; she only worked mornings. I had intended to surprise her, yes it's a cliché; hell it's the cliché of clichés that a cheated on spouse shows up where he or she is least expected and ends up crying his or her eyes out. Well, I knew that would be me soon enough. Oh yeah, who am I...
I'm Jesse Pearson, age forty-six. I'm a financial planner at a local bank. My wife? Tracy Pearson, age forty-five. We're what I would describe as an average couple, we do okay financially, and we get along well in and out of bed. Me personally? I'm five-eight, my brown hair's thinned a lot over the years, but I think I look okay; I take care of myself. Her? Pretty, especially for her age, at least I think so. Evidently so does Hank, uh Henry, Williams, her boss: black, six-three, two-fifty, certified asshole.
I am watching something surreal, at least to me. He's lifted her up off her knees now and has settled her up on the couch, again on her knees, butt towards him. I watch as he pushes into her. I snap another picture; I do love these cell phones; they do so much more than enable conversation. There was an irony in that, I mean in the cell pics: they were the proof I needed.
Tracy's parents and grandparents—on both sides—had divorced because of infidelity; evidently it was something in the genes or water or something. But, as fortune would dictate, before she would marry me, she made me go with her to a lawyer. I had to sign a prenup. It stated that if either of us was caught in infidelity, the other would get everything. She wasn't taking any chances she had told me the night I'd proposed, not with the history her family had. The history? In all four divorces referred to, it had been the men cheating and the women hurt. Well, she sure as hell had reversed that trend, and I had incontrovertible proof of it. Oh, and for the record, I had never even thought about cheating on her. I had righteousness on my side; something I was discovering didn't mean fuck in affairs of the heart. God, how I was hurting! But, I wasn't so hurt or so stunned that I couldn't think.
My marriage was very likely over. Our two kids, Melanie and Mark, both off at college a hundred miles away, would be upset, I was sure; but life is what it is. I would be talking to them soon.
I slipped out and away. I had to think long and hard about how to play this. I considered crashing their party, but the guy cuckolding me might well have killed me; he was so fucking big! But, that wasn't even the main reason I was sneaking out with my tail between my legs. I was purely afraid that she might tell me that she didn't love me anymore. Suspecting it, even knowing it, was one thing; but hearing it from her would have been infinitely worse, oh yes far worse. Yes okay, my marriage probably was over, but I loved her, needed her. I just didn't know what to do, not yet at any rate.
I had taken care of a few things after having left them to their pleasures at lunch. First, back at work, I downloaded the pictures I'd taken of them to my work computer. I had also done some checking. Mister Williams it seems had his accounts at our bank! I was pretty sure he had, but I wasn't totally sure; my work had little to do with floor operations; my job is to handle stock trades and high end loans.
I knew I couldn't touch his accounts; there are laws, but I was pretty sure that if he would cuckold a man in his own home that he would probably cheat in other ways too, maybe on his taxes or on his business associates or perhaps even on his own family; hell, he'd already done this last. I'd know very shortly about any of the rest of it. I was going to bring Mr. Williams down if I could, and I was pretty sure I could.
And then there was Tracy. I was going to get everything anyway, but I was going to make sure. I put in a seal order on our safe deposit box; that's where we kept one set of the original prenup papers; Matt Grossman, our lawyer, had the other. I took care of some other banking stuff: transferring funds and killing cards and then I relaxed. I may have been her cuckold, and his, but they were not going to profit from it, and I wasn't going to slip quietly into the night either. There would soon be a typhoon of shit for the two of them to deal with.
The work day over, I headed out to Tribes, my favorite bar. It was there that I made the decision. I would try to save the marriage. I would find out somehow whether or not she loved me, whether this was just a onetime thing. Okay, I knew in my heart it probably wasn't, but I didn't know for sure. I had to know for sure—I mean twenty-six years!
I waved goodbye to Fyfe, the barkeep, threw a ten down on the bar, and headed out.
I parked in the garage. I could smell the stew she was making even in there.
"Hi honey," she said. "How was your day?"
She seemed almost happy to see me. "A little rugged, but okay, I guess. Smells good," I said.
She seemed pleased at my words. I guess if she was going to give herself away to another man, she wanted to make sure I was happy in other respects. Well, the game wasn't over yet. The next hours would tell the tale. But, all of that could wait until I had had dinner; I did love her beef stew.
Dinner was normal. We talked about our day. We made plans to go to Bev and Mike's anniversary party the following weekend. They were having it at Tribes, always a good idea, I thought.
We watched a little TV; well she watched TV; I watched her. She was so calm and collected. Had it been me cheating on her, I would have been a nervous wreck, feeling guilty as hell. But her? Nothing, not even a sidelong glance. Could I have been dreaming? Well, maybe, but the pictures were no dream and I had them. I even had a set of poor quality downloaded ones with me. I hoped I'd not need them, but one never knew.
We headed upstairs to bed. The moment of truth, I thought. I smiled at her. She looked at me funny. Her first slip? Well maybe.
"I'm feeling frisky," I said. "And you are looking awful good tonight." She smiled at me, but it seemed forced, but that might just have been my imagination.
"Well, I should hope so," she said, finally, "this hairdo cost me plenty." She smiled again.
We were soon naked and in bed. I was a little more attentive than usual. I kissed her lightly then more earnestly. I felt up her breasts and butt. Working myself down her body, I kissed her more southerly lips and made agreeable love to her. She lay languidly as I had my way with her. Soon, I was banging her vigorously. She lay impassive, but smiled up at me periodically. In a word she was bored. And, in another word, I now knew. Her love for me was dead or dying. My love for her? Also dying.
Rather than carry on with the farce, I pulled out of her. I got up.
"Where yuh goin'?" she said confused.
"I'll be back in a moment," I said. "Then, I'll let you be."
"Huh?" she said. "Let me be? You just fucked me."
"No, I made love to you," I said. "Well, at least I tried. But, I'll be back in a second. Just relax." She looked more than a little nervous. I was about to clear up any and all reason for her to be concerned.
Still naked, I hustled downstairs, found my briefcase, retrieved the photos, and headed back up.
I placed the manila folder on the bedstand. I went in to shower. I was soaped up pretty good when I heard the scream. Then nothing.
I rinsed off and dried myself. I went back in to face the storm.
I'd only been gone minutes, but she looked terrible. Her face was streaked and she had on her old robe; it was a tattered thing, but comfortable, she'd always maintained.
"Jess—please—you've got to listen to me. You've got to," she said. Now, she was begging.
"Oh, really? What do I need to hear, Trace? I'm all ears. One thing I gotta ask though, in my house! That really hurt, yuh know?" I said.
"Jess, it's not what you think?" she continued to plead.
"Well, I'm sure glad of that, Trace, because if it was him fucking you, as I originally thought, we're done you and I," I said. "So was it?"
"Was what?" she said.
"Was it him fucking you?" I said.
"Jess—no—I mean yes—but I mean it's not what you think. I don't love him. I love you, only you. Didn't I just get done proving that to you?" she said. The hope in her voice was palpable. She was praying it was enough.
"You mean when we—I—made love to you just now," I said.
"Yes, exactly that," she said. "It was wonderful, right?"
"Hell no it wasn't. I was hoping that I was wrong, Trace. That you would at least love me too. That you would show me at least as much passion as you showed the asshole today. Maybe then we might have worked something out. I mean twenty-six years. Jesus!
"I know couples sometimes kinda get bored with each other after that much time. But, you couldn't get even a little interested in me tonight; it was obvious. Hell, I almost couldn't get it up to screw you it was such a turnoff, I mean your bored attitude. But, you are pretty, so at least I was able to get one last fuck in before the end," I said.
"Jess, you're wrong, I loved what you did to me. I know I was relaxed because you relaxed me—uh—uh—with your tongue." She was getting desperate.
"What about with my cock?' I said. What about that? Tell me, is he bigger than me? I'd really like to know."
.... There is more of this story ...