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.
"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.
.... There is more of this story ...