I learned a long time ago, that life doesn't always turn out the way you plan or hope, and sometimes you've just got to roll with the punches. But for me to tell you my strange and erotic story, or as I jokingly call it, my "journey through the rabbit hole," you need to understand how I got to this juncture in my life. Robert Falcone and I were married just after I graduated college. Robert, a handsome red-haired, blue-eyed man, who graduated a couple of years ahead of me, was a good and loving husband, never abusive, and even encouraged me to earn my master's degree. He had a great paying job with a company that had hired him while he was still in college, and he climbed the corporate ladder to provide a wonderful life for us. He even stood by my side when the doctors told us that after I was in a terrible car crash, that I had not only lost our baby, but that I wouldn't be able to have any more children, and never once blamed me for it. I worked as a teacher at a local middle school and I loved my job. Robert's company was growing and expanding, and several times a year had formal parties where we would go so Robert could network.
It was at what turned out to be my last party with Robert when my life started to drastically change. I suppose you could say it was when my "journey through the rabbit hole" actually began, though I didn't know it at the time. Robert was doing his usual networking and I was chatting with some of the wives catching up on the latest office gossip when a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with black hair and dark brown eyes walked up and asked, "Are you Crystal Falcone?"
"Yes," I said.
Suddenly, she threw her drink into my face and screamed, "THAT'S FOR FUCKING MY HUSBAND YOU WHORE!"
I heard the collective gasp of the women around me, and I knew what people were thinking. I grabbed a napkin and attempted to wipe the drink from my eyes as I said, "Lady, unless your husband is Robert Falcone, you have the wrong woman."
"SO YOU ARE DENYING IT?" she shrieked.
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Besides, I probably don't even know who your husband is."
"My husband is Peter Miller."
Well shit, it turned out that I did know her husband, but not because I was fucking him; he and my husband were golf buddies. I had only met Peter a few times in passing. He was a handsome man with black hair and brown eyes, and until this rather embarrassing moment, I had never met his wife. "Look Mrs. Miller, I swear to you that I am not having an affair with your husband." Then I said loud enough for everyone to hear, "OR ANYONE ELSE'S HUSBAND EITHER!"
With that, Robert and Peter walked up. "Emily, what have you done?" asked Peter.
"I ... I ... I just—" and with that, Emily Miller burst into tears.
Damn, now I felt sorry for this poor woman. Peter wrapped his arms around his wife and said, "Bob, Crys, I'm so sorry for this."
"No harm, no foul," I said. "Besides, these parties rarely get any excitement."
I heard a few people chuckle nervously as Peter escorted his wife away. Robert and I left shortly after but didn't talk about what had occurred between Peter's wife and me. A few days later, I attended a required teacher training that ended early so I decided to go home and relax. I was shocked to see Robert's car in the driveway. After I parked, I checked my watch and cell phone to make sure of the time. I knew Robert should've still been at work, so seeing his car meant something had to be wrong. I quickly went into the house and looked, but Robert was nowhere to be found. I went upstairs and noticed that our bedroom door was closed, which was odd because I was sure I had left it open when I left that morning. As I approached, I heard something, like a grunting noise coming from our bedroom. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing, were sex sounds.
Then I heard a man's voice say, "Your ass is just so fucking tight."
There was one thing I knew for sure, that was not Robert's voice. I slowly opened the door, peeked in, and saw Peter Miller anally fucking ... MY HUSBAND! My first instinct was to bust in on them, especially after what happened at the party, but then I had a better idea. I grabbed my cell phone, checked that the ringer was still off from the training, and began recording. I would check the screen occasionally to make sure I had them both in the shot, as what I was seeing was disturbing on so many levels. In twenty minutes I had footage of Peter fucking Robert, Robert fucking Peter, both of them sucking each other's cocks, and dialogue that a porno director would kill for.
When they finished, I quickly and quietly went downstairs and left the house. I called Robert's secretary for Peter's address, claiming that Robert had requested that I make peace with Emily. I knew everyone had heard about the party incident, and my story would be believable. She happily gave me the address, and I asked her not to tell Robert as I drove to Peter's house. Luckily, for me, she agreed. Emily Miller was more than a little shocked to see me at her door, but that was nothing compared to her reaction to the video. After she downloaded a copy for herself and apologized profusely, I bid her goodbye.
Later, I phoned a lawyer friend of mine and asked for the name of the best divorce lawyer in the area. About a week after my call, I met with my new lawyer, showed her the video, and watched the dollar signs dance in her eyes. That night, I cooked Robert's favorite dinner, served it with his favorite wine, and baked his favorite dessert. He had no idea what I had planned for him as this was my "let's make love" dinner. After we finished dessert, I told Robert I had a special movie for us to watch so we took our wine and went into the living room. We sat on the couch and I turned on the TV and the DVD player. I wish I had thought to set up a video camera to capture the look on Robert's face when he realized the "porno" we were watching was starring Peter Miller and himself in our bedroom.
"Turn it off," he said after a few minutes.
"Why?" I asked innocently. "Don't you like—"
"I said turn it off Crystal!" he barked.
I stopped the DVD and said, "There's plenty more Robert. I'd say ... about twenty minutes more."
"Where did you get this?"
I took a sip of my wine. "Funny thing. I came home early one day and found your car parked in the driveway. I'll admit I was pretty surprised, but that was nothing compared to the surprise I found in our bedroom."
"Crystal, I can explain—"
I put my hand up to stop him. "Save it. Tell me, are you gay or bi?"
Robert hung his head in shame. "Bi."
"Crys, I swear—"
"HOW LONG HAVE YOU TWO BEEN FUCKING?!?"
Robert sighed. "Five years."
I dropped my wine glass and it shattered on the floor. I expected him to say a few months, maybe a year, but five, that came as a shock. After thirteen years of marriage, of me being a faithful and loyal wife, he'd been unfaithful to me for at least the last five, possibly more. It took all the strength I had to keep it together, but not before I slapped him as hard as I could. "I've already spoken to a lawyer and I'm filing for divorce."
"Crys, who all has seen this video?"
"As far as I know, aside from us, Emily Miller and my lawyer. But you've only seen the first couple of minutes."
"You showed this to Emily Miller?"
"Yeah, I felt she had a right to know exactly who her husband was fucking after what happened at the party."
Robert blew out a breath of air. He knew I had him by the balls. If this video were to get out, it would ruin him. Not because of the homosexual affair, but because he had one with a married man, and with a fellow colleague, which was considered fraternization, an offense that would get both men fired. I did not intend to see Robert lose his job, especially since he'd been there since college, but I wasn't sure about Emily Miller.
"What do you want Crys?" he asked.
"My lawyer will be in touch shortly, but I suggest you find a new place to live."
Robert jumped up and yelled, "Like hell! This is my fucking house!"
"Our fucking house!" I snapped back. "You forget Robert! My name is on the deed too!"
He ran his hands through his red hair. "This is stupid Crys! Let's work this shit out!"
"You've been cheating on me for at least five years! There's nothing to, quote, 'work out' as you say. I can't trust you anymore! Now, if you insist on staying here, then pick a fucking bedroom because I'm not sharing a bed with you ever again!"
"Crys, please!" he begged.
"Pick a bedroom Robert. I'm tired and I wish to get some rest."
Robert sighed. "Fine, I'll take the guest bedroom."
"Good. You've got three days to remove your shit from the master bedroom."
I stormed upstairs and locked myself into what was our bedroom. Here was the room we had made love in so many times, created our angel baby, and shared so many other memories. This was also the room that my marriage ended in. That night, I cried myself to sleep, and it was the last time I cried about my failed marriage.
My lawyer was well worth Robert's money. Not only did she get him to pay the court costs and her fees, but also a generous spousal support for the next seven years or until I re-married, whichever came first, and a percentage of his retirement. We lived in the house until it sold, and split the profits, which I invested. When it was all said and done, I got my divorce, and he paid all the bills.
.... There is more of this story ...