I was standing at the bar next to my wife when Don showed up. I laughed and accused him of being late. He threw up his hands in mock despair. Meagan just frowned at me; she seemed nervous.

"Whatcha drinkin'," I said to the new arrival. "And where's Bert?" Bert was Bertha, a pretty, big breasted German girl ten years any of our junior.

"A beer will be fine," he said. "She's at home. Got a bug of some kind." I nodded, Meagan had had the same thing a week earlier and had had to stay home to recuperate.

A couple of hours, several dances—we shared Meagan and a couple of local ladies—and a whole lot of sauce later, the conversation loosened up—a lot.

"Whaddya think of that redhead over there," said Don. He was studying me.

"Huh? What do I think?" I said. Meagan looked at me in a way I could not decipher. I looked back at her, my look had to be a question.

"She's cute, I guess," I said, finally.

"You guess? Her name's Joan, and she's as hot as they come. I hear her husband likes to watch too," said Don. Meagan now looked daggers at Don.

"Watch what," I said, not getting it the first time. And what was wrong with Meagan.

"Watch her getting it," said Don. "It goes on a lot you know. I mean husbands wanting to be cuckolded by their wives."

"Oh yeah, I'll bet," I said. I had to laugh; Meagan was clearly not comfortable with the conversation. "A cuckold? Hey Meagan, would you get off on cuckolding me?" Her face drained. It was so obvious that I knew. I knew it then. Right then. A perfect storm of coincidences now occurred. The redhead, Joan, moseyed over and pulled Don out on the dance floor. Meagan tried to get the bartender's attention, but he was too far away and too busy to offer her the time she needed to recoup from her lapse. And, I had made a decision; I was not going to let this fester. Now, was the time.

"Meagan," I said, getting her attention. She wouldn't look at me. "Who is he?"

Her eyes flicked up and met mine. "Who?" she managed. I waited. "Well who, Chester?"

"The man you're fucking. The man you've made me a cuckold with. And, before you answer, know this, I will know if you lie. I will know immediately," I said.

"Chester I—"

"Who the fuck is he? Tell me now?" I demanded.

"Chester—It doesn't matter, Chester. It was just sex. No commitment. Just two sweaty bodies doing it, and it's over," she said. "I'm sorry okay. I just kinda lost control; but I got it back now, really. I'm sorry." She looked desperate, as well she should have.

"Doesn't matter? You are kidding, right? You're sorry? Tell me who he is now, Meagan, or I'm gone, and I mean forever," I said. Now, she was flustered and desperate.

She looked out onto the floor. My eyes followed hers. "Him?" I said. "My boss?" I began to stiffen up. My anger was about to reach the boiling point. It finally did. I walked out onto the floor and yanked my good friend, my boss, away from his partner.

"What the fuck!" he said. The woman's mouth was wide open but no sounds emerged.

My first punch relieved him of every scintilla of air in his lungs; my second dropped him; I proceeded to beat the high holy shit out of him. I walked out and headed home. The police were waiting for me; I have no idea who called them or how they knew where I lived; I suspect they got the latter from my wife, but who knew.

They cuffed me and took me into custody. My jail cell was lonely and cold. And, I was thirsty.

My wife arrived early in the morning, but she couldn't see me until I was arraigned. By noon she was there with the bail money.

"Chester, whaddya gonna do?" she said, coming up to me, as they led me out and presented me with my personal stuff. "You put Don in the hospital, you know."

"He's still alive?" I said, in mock disappointment.

"It's all my fault. All my fault," she said. "Jesus, I didn't mean to—you know."

"Cuckold me?" I said.

"Chester, whaddya gonna do. Can we just go home now?" she said.

"Yeah, I have to get my clothes," I said. "We're quits you and I. You can fuck that asshole, that so called friend of mine, all you want now. I mean if you can get Bertha's permission. Oh, and he can fuck his insurance agency fucking job too."

"Bertha already knows. She was okay with it?" said Meagan. That one stopped me.

"Bertha was okay with you two fucking around on me—us—she and I?"

"Yes, they've done some swinging. He, Don, wanted us to join them. We were going to talk to you about it—well—last night. I guess it was a bad idea," she said. I just stared at her.

"You two—you three—conspired to get me to swing with you! Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?" I said.

"I told him you wouldn't go for it. He just said that he thought that, if we went about it right, that he could get you to come around," she said.

"Well, I guess he didn't go about it right then did he? I mean fucking you first and then trying to get me to go for it. Not too bright on his part. Hope you enjoyed having his dick up your twat. Is his bigger than mine? I really want to know. Are you a size queen?"

"Chester it has nothing to do with you and me or the size of his cock or any of that. It was just craziness—silliness on my part—our part..." she said.

"Answer me Meagan. I want to know!" I said.

"Okay, okay, he's a little bigger, but only a little. There's no real difference," she said. I could sense my face darken.

I may be headed to prison, Meagan, I want to thank you in advance for that; you know just in fucking case I never see your whoring ass again! Of course, the upside for you is that you won't have me standing in the way of you getting his big fat dick up you will you—cunt!" I said. She was crying her eyes out as we walked to the car.

"Chester, I'm sorry. It was a bad idea. I was never sure I even wanted to do it anyway, I mean the swinging. Please, Chester, give me another chance. I need you. I love you," she whined.

"Yeah, fucking right!" I said

Of course I was not in a believing mood. Arriving at home, I tried to call Bertha. She wasn't home.

"She's at the hospital. Don has a broken jaw and cracked ribs as well as a concussion. I think he'll be all right, but he's going to be in the hospital for several days. Bertha called to tell me," she said.

"I hope the motherfucker—make that, other-man's-wife-fucker—dies," I said. She was howling now.

"Please, Chester, I will never do it again. I just lost it; I don't know why. I don't even like the guy that much!" she said.

"You don't know why you did it! You don't like him that much!" I looked at her with the purest of angers in my eyes, of that I was sure. "You didn't even like him that much!" I repeated! "Meagan, you're a piece of work. You all are," I said. "I may not be rich like him, but at least I'm honest and loyal. None of the three of you can say as much the way I see it. Kindly go to hell all of you!"

My trial for aggravated assault was held two months later. I was found guilty.

"Chester Gilford, you have been found guilty of aggravated assault. I hereby sentence you to from one to five years in the state penitentiary for your crime." The gavel sounded. My knees felt weak. My lawyer mumbled something about an appeal. I looked around and saw my wife; my faithless wife. Her eyes were filled with tears. Well, what the hell, I thought.

I was cuffed and put into a waist chain and ankle shackles on the spot. The guard took hold of my arm and led me away. My shortened stutter steps made it plain to all that I was a prisoner, talk about adding to my humiliation.

Besides Meagan, the remainder of the unholy three were there. Don was sneering, Bertha was perplexed. And oh yeah, Meagan? Meagan was beseeching me to forgive her. I wondered if she would be visiting me in the joint. I wondered if I even gave a damn; I was pretty sure I didn't.

I was sent to a medium security unit about 150 miles from home. It didn't matter to me, but the inmates there were at least not your average axe murderers. Most were in for stuff like me or white collar types most serving sentences similar to my own. Oh, there were a few big time baddies, but those were old guys finishing out their life sentences in their dotage.

Turned out she did visit me, or tried to, several times in that first year; but I refused to see her. I was hoping she'd just divorce me and let me alone; but, she didn't do that either. I was paroled after eighteen months.

My experience inside was enlightening. I actually made some friends—go figure. Couldn't trust my wife, my boss, his wife, or likely very many others of the old crowd, the way I was seeing things; but, the cons I met inside were reliable as hell. Helluva thing.

As I stood in front of the cage waiting for the final paperwork, and to get signed out, and for the few personal things that I had brought in with me a year and a half before, a guard approached me.

"Do good Chester. Don't wanna see you back here, okay?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Masters, as much as I like the place, I will be making other plans," I said, smiling.

"Uh—Chester, I don't know if you're expecting her, but I think your wife is outside waiting for you. I know you rejected seeing her in the past when she came up to visit," he said. My smile faded in a hurry.

"Man, that's all I need," I said. "Well, maybe it's time to get it over with; I mean my final words to her." Guard Masters just nodded his agreement.

The gate clanged shut behind me. The bright sunlight had me squinting and looking left and right for what I knew was coming. The six year old Chevy, my old car, came up beside me. Meagan leaned out and smiled.

"Can I give you a lift, handsome," she said, trying to be jovial, I supposed. Not a good idea when a man has just spent a piece of his life he can never get back in a cage.

I just opened the car door and got in. I think she could tell my mood wasn't jovial. We said nothing for the first few miles.

"Chester..."

"What did you come for—really—Meagan?" I said. "Why are you bothering me?"

"Chester, I—I—I am so sorry for all of this. I have cried every single day since you went away," she said.

"Went away! You mean since I was locked up, Meagan. Say it, since I was locked up." I said.

"Chester, it's hard—okay. Okay, since you were locked up and put in chains and kept from your job and rightful place and home. Chester, it was all my fault. I am so fucking sorry," she cried. "I cheated on you and tried to make you like it. If you give me a chance, you will be the happiest sonovabitch that ever lived; I swear it." I looked her squarely in the eye; I had to lean forward and look back to do it as she drove.

And what about Don the asshole?" I said. "And his cunt wife, Bertha?"

"They're sorry this happened too, Chester. He tried to get the charges dropped after you were—convicted—but it was too late. Bertha? She just went along with anything he wanted. They aren't bad people, Chester. They just screwed up; well, Don did," she said. Something in her words or tone hit me.

"You're still seeing him, aren't you?" I said. I looked her square in the eyes again.

"Chester, he's not a bad guy. I know he hurt you; I hurt you. I feel awful about all of this. I had to argue with him not to have him come down here today to meet you too," she said. "He wants to make it all up to you."

"You—haven't—answered—my—question—Meagan. Are—you—still—seeing—mister asshole?" I enunciated each word. Anger was boiling up inside of me.

"Chester, yes we see each other occasionally, but it's not like you think. He isn't fucking me. Not that," she said. "Not ever again that, I promise you."

"Then what? Why do you see the man that put me behind bars?" I said.

"Chester, I needed someone to hold on to while you were inside that awful place; I felt so guilty. I was losing my mind. I couldn't work—hold a job. I wasn't lying when I said I've cried almost daily since you've been—gone.

"Don—well, he stood by me. Made my payments when I couldn't—he felt guilty too. Found me a part time job to pay for my food and such," she said.

"What did you have to give in return, Meagan?" I said. She started to cry, and there was no stopping her. I waited.

"There was no fucking, Chester, I swear to you, none of that," she said.

"Okay, then what," I said. She started wailing again. I was becoming annoyed. I waited some more.

"Well?" I said.

"Just an occasional handjob. Maybe a blow job or two," she said, and she said it so quietly I think she was hoping I wouldn't hear it. If so, she was about to be disappointed.

"You mindless fucking whore! You're fucking crazy," I said. "Stop the car."

"Huh?" she said.

"Stop the fucking car, damn it!" She did, I got out, grabbed my bag, and started walking. It was twenty miles in the heat of the day, but I was afraid I would kill her if I stayed with her. She had to be the dumbest broad in the whole fucking world.

She got out of the car and started chasing me down the road. "Chester! I never fucked him. I swear I never did. He knows it'll never happen again for him. Only you get that," she said, wailing as I strode off and made the turn down the old dirt road toward Baxter Town; she fell hopelessly behind. The road wasn't passable by car, I knew. I was hoping she wouldn't follow me. But, now it was my turn to be disappointed.

It took me ten hours carrying that bag and stopping now and again to catch my breath, but I made it. It was 7:30PM when I strolled up to the little bed and breakfast at the edge of town. I didn't see the Chevy; there was hope.

I headed up to the registration desk and asked to get a room. The man asked for my name; I gave it.

"Oh, Mr. Gilford, your wife has already rented the room," he said. He handed me the key. I just stood there dumbfounded. "Mr. Gilford?"

"Uh—oh, yes—uh—what room is it," I said. I was too fucking tired to argue at that point. I'd kick her out when I got to the room. That was my plan. It was about to be altered.

I keyed the door and entered. What I noticed first was the smell. It was her perfume. It had always enslaved me in the past. I was so horny after eighteen months behind bars that that smell was getting to me. But, she wasn't around. She'd left an envelope on the bed. I opened it. There was money in it and a note. I read the note.

"Chester,

I don't know what to say. I am begging you to forgive me—for everything. My heart is yours, always was, always will be.

I knew you'd probably throw me out if you found me here, so after freshening up a bit, I decided to leave you this note and a little money. It's all I have, but I know you need it more.

Chester there's a little bar down the street, maybe two blocks away. I'll be there until it closes tonight. I mean in case you want to see me. In case you've maybe, hopefully, changed your mind. After that, if you haven't changed your mind, I will disappear forever, and you won't have to worry about me anymore.

I love you Chester.

Your wife,

Meagan.

I counted the money. It was four-hundred and eighty-four hundred dollars. It was apparently every dime she had; I just shook my head—what a woman.

I had come into town with ninety dollars in my pocket. I could use the cash. I sat and thought. Did I really want to subject myself to another meeting with her. But, her letter? The money? It unsettled me.

I took a quick shower, changed into the extra clothes in my little tube bag, and headed down the street for the Challenger bar. The desk kid told me where it was.

She was in a booth nursing a drink and nibbling on some chips. She looked tired and depressed. I leaned back against the wall and just watched her for a moment. She was beautiful, my wife, to me she was beautiful; but she was stupid beyond belief. Handjobs, blow jobs, the images just wouldn't go away. I was all but certain that there had been more, but what the hell; I'd talk to her anyway and deal with the rest later.

I sighed and headed for her. She didn't notice me until my shadow blocked the light from her table. Her head snapped up. "Chester! You came!," she said. Her smile melted my convict's heart. I nodded.

"Come on, Meagan, I'm starving. I need to eat. It's been a long day," I said. She let me lead her out. I paid the bill at the bar on our way out and headed a few doors back up the street to a little ma-and-pa café.