Retreat, hell! My friggin' wife wanted me to go to a retreat. That's what she just asked me to do before I left for work this morning. She's got to be damned crazy if she thinks I'm going to spend my vacation listening to some jerkoff expound on how to connect with my feelings. She claims I'm angry all the time. Why wouldn't I be? I bust my ass and she never contributes a damned penny to the household anymore. Where in hell is all her money going anyway?
I thought about all of this while driving into the city to my desk job at the insurance company. I knew deep down I probably would give in and go with her. That is if she forgave me for blowing up at her when she asked. Well I would have to straighten it out tonight. I'd better cancel the order for the new boat I had my eye on. I wasn't going to need it if I was listening to some asshole talk about things that were too private to share--for me, anyway. Hell, I didn't even share them with Connie.
Connie had become Mrs. Steven Davenport seven years ago. I met her just as I had been promoted to office manager in a fairly large company. Connie arrived from the secretarial pool to take the first dictation I required in my new position. She was nice looking, not spectacularly so, but nice just the same. Before the day was over, she asked me if I would ask for her the next time I needed a secretary. I said I would.
Four months later, Connie announced that she was quitting. This surprised me, for we got along really well and she had become my private secretary a month previous to her announcement. "Steve, I'm falling in love with you I think, and you can't date me because of the company policy. I can't be this close to you all the time because it's driving me crazy."
I did want to date her. In fact I lusted after her and now I had free rein to pursue her. I had at times seen down her blouse and one time I had seen her panties when some things fell off the desk and she bent to pick them up. It took a while, possibly three more months before I was able to take her panties off and enjoy what was kept from me while we worked at the same company.
Connie found another job starting over in the pool there. We married and I started talking about having a kid. No way. Connie wanted to live awhile without being tied down. She said that eventually she might consider having a child. We worked during the week and enjoyed ourselves on the weekends. Connie finally worked her way out of the pool and into a better position. The job required some trips out of town and some evening work too. As the years went by I became tired of it, because she never seemed to have enough time for me anymore. We had purchased a home. It was larger than we needed, but I was thinking ahead to the kids we might have. Connie dressed well so most of her salary went for her personal items. I was always proud to show her off and have a beautiful woman with me when I went out.
Sex that had been hot, heavy and frequent the first few years was now having to be asked for. Never any more spontaneous sex and more often than not it was a quickie. My life wasn't going as I planned when Connie and I married. I couldn't see where I had changed, except I was getting pissed and frustrated more often. The costs attributed to the house were a lot more than I had anticipated, compounded by Connie being often away. I hired a person to come in and do the cleaning and laundry. I told Connie that she should at least help pay for the cleaning, but I never saw any money from her.
Now she said she had signed me up to go to a damned seminar. The week of vacation I looked forward to being in a boat on the water somewhere. The conversation went downhill when I got home that evening. Connie did have dinner on the table, so I knew I was going to be hit with more arguments. We both got pretty hot and the fight ended with me refusing to go at all. Connie ended the fight when she said she would be going with Franny then.
Dumb-ass me, I never questioned who Franny was, just assuming it was a friend that Connie worked with. You know--one of the girls. I slept in the spare room that night, but Connie warmed up in the days after and even started talking about maybe having the child I wanted.
The retreat wasn't for a month after the fight. The next week I offered to go with Connie as the relations had warmed between us. Connie said that she had promised Franny and it wouldn't be fair to renege. She rewarded me with some of the best sex I had in a long time for making the offer. I rented a boat instead of buying one and thought to myself I had made a wise decision in canceling the order if we were going to have a baby.
Connie was off to the retreat and I was off in my rental boat. The boat, I found, was a piece of shit. The damned boat motor wouldn't start half of the time and on the third day I gave up and bitched so much to the marina, I received my money back from the owner.
I decided to go and at least visit my wife. I wanted to surprise her and take her out to dinner. When I got to the retreat, I just walked in and asked the attendant for Connie and Franny's cabin. She said Mr. and Mrs. Bingham's cabin was the third one on the left in section A. I could find the cabin and go in, or I could find them in the conference hall where they were listening to the most renowned lecturer they had ever signed up. Wow!
The cabin had one double bed in it. In the bath, Connie's stockings were hung over the shower stall and I saw her teddy crumpled on the far side of the bed. There was a man's shaving equipment by the washbasin. I guess the laundry hadn't been changed today for there were secretions all up and down the sheets. Yuk!
I poked around in the suitcases, his and hers. I didn't see anything that I didn't know about in Connie's except some new frilly lingerie. In his though, I found printouts of some e-mail that stated she had done as he asked. She was protected from me getting her pregnant and timed it right with her birth control so she would be fertile almost all the time here at the retreat.
I didn't have much time to decide what to do. What I wanted to do was to kill them both. But no, I wasn't going to jail over my unfaithful bitch of a wife. I looked for more evidence. Who was Francis Bingham? I found his wallet with everything in it. I quickly copied his address. I also found a photo of Franny and Connie taken when they first arrived at the retreat. The photographer had identified them as Mr. and Mrs. Bingham, Connie and Francis.
I found a cum-soaked pair of Connie's panties. I put the panties, the photo and the e-mail printouts into a plastic store bag and left the cabin. I was crushed and angry. I glanced at the sign over the entrance to the retreat again as I left. This wasn't an anger management retreat. It couldn't be for the sign said "Lovers Retreat."
I went home and pulled a couple of brews out of the fridge. I downed the first one and started nursing the second. Connie and my marriage was toast, that I was certain. Sitting there, I wondered how smart Connie had been in hiding her affair. I couldn't find her checkbook, but I found the statements and canceled checks for the last several months. Her money hadn't all gone for clothes as I thought. She had paid out hundreds of dollars for motels in the evenings, when she said she was working. The bundle of canceled checks that had been returned from the bank had a check made out to the Lovers Retreat. It had been sent before I made the peace offering that I had reconsidered and would join her. The offer that she had turned down.
It looked like Connie had a boy toy and he was quite costly. It was almost dark when I decided to find where Francis Bingham lived. I found the house in a nice middle-class neighborhood. There were lights on and I knew Franny-boy must be married and have a kid because there was a baby swing hooked to the ceiling of the porch. I would check closer on this tomorrow.
Thursday morning I went to my bank and rearranged my finances so Connie wouldn't have access. I talked to my lawyer, Stella Sims, the one who had handled the paperwork on our house purchase. I was impressed with her then and I was more impressed with her after discussing my divorce. She informed me that I would need more evidence of Connie's infidelity. She said she would have an operative gather statements from the retreat personnel on Monday and would have the panties tested at a laboratory.
As for Connie's lover, he would be checked out thoroughly by another operative. She indicated this was going to be costly, however having more evidence would shorten the lengthy divorce process. The waiting I had to contend with was not good, though. I figured that Francis had a wife and she would be an injured party too, so I decided to see her.
I took the signed photo with me and knocked on the door of Francis Bingham's house. A woman came to the door and stood there with a smile on her face and a little boy on one hip. I almost turned and left because in a few minutes I was going to destroy her world. "Hi. Are you Mrs. Bingham? I have a picture of a man that I would like you to identify if you would."
She took the picture from my hand. Just a glance brought tears to her eyes. She almost dropped the infant. I took him as she turned back to the room inside. "Come in. Yes, that is my husband. Who is the woman he is with in the picture?"
.... There is more of this story ...