It's Saturday, 9:00AM, the next town over from ours, to the south—Centerville. I was watching her and some asshole coming out of a motel room. She was looking really well fucked, I thought. She'd stayed the whole night. I'd not objected to her being gone since she was supposedly on a business related overnighter. She'd had several of those in recent months; now I had to wonder if all of the business wasn't monkey business.
I put my camera away. I'd gotten all I needed after she'd gotten in the car with him. I was where I was to see what I was seeing because of a tip I'd gotten via an anonymous email.
The tipster had proven accurate right enough: my wife was here, at the Starlite Motor Lodge, and she was here, with a man not her husband—I know this because I'm her husband, and it wasn't me she was with. And, she sure as hell shouldn't have been here doing what she was undoubtedly doing. I love my wife, but if what my eyes were telling me indeed turned out to be what it sure as hell looked like; then, the fact that I loved her may be irrelevant in any event.
My dear wife at age thirty-six—our common age—is a nice looking woman: tall, blond, and well endowed. She is likewise possessed of a great personality and a high degree of intelligence. She and I have been happily married, or so I thought, for the past twelve years.
We do fine economically. I own a small catering and entertainment business: Food and Fun for All Occasions. Rachel Killingsworth nee Hightower, my wife, is a college graduate—I'm not. She works for Schneider and Holcomb Advertising; she designs ad campaigns for businesses and a few non-profit organizations. Our salaries are comparable, which fact may become a useful defense in the very possible divorce action that I am currently considering.
I met Rachel at her sister's wedding, the lady's third try, so I later discovered. I was catering the affair; Rachel was Glenda's maid of honor. Glenda is of course now my sister-in-law. Rachel and I hit it off that day, and I'd had the brass cajones to ask her out on a date even though I was servicing the party: usually mixing business with personal stuff is never a good idea; but hell, it was damn near love at first sight.
I pulled out and onto the highway. I had a sixty mile run to make it home before she did. Well, I assumed she was going to go home.
I pulled into the driveway, parked my car in the garage, and went inside. I immediately headed for the den and the mini-bar it harbored. Two martinis later I heard the garage door opener engage; it was her. Hmm, she hadn't dallied long in getting home from her dirty little tryst. I'd been hammer down most of the way back, and I'd only beaten her by maybe three-quarters of an hour. Well, she did have dinner to cook for us.
"Oh, you're here in the den," she said.
"Yeah, it's where the bar is," I said.
"You're building martinis this time of day?" She seemed genuinely surprised. Maybe because it wasn't beer: my usual mid-day choice of refreshment.
"Yeah, I felt the need for something a little stronger than the usual four percent stuff," I said.
"Daniel? Something wrong?" she said.
"Yeah, you could say that," I said. Her look was a question, but she didn't voice it.
"I just wonder what I did to make you want to fuck somebody else behind my back," I said.
"What did you say?"
"I was just wondering if it was something I did that influenced you to shack up with that guy at the Starlite today."
"Daniel Killingsworth! How dare you!" she said. I reached behind a throw-pillow on the couch I was sitting on. I dialed up one of the photos I'd taken. It was of her kissing the guy after they were in the car. The pic was unusually good for one taken at some little range and through the front windshield. There was no doubt about who it was. Well it was a good camera.
"Will this be enough to cut through the bullshit, so we can get down to brass tacks," I said. She looked at the photograph and realized she was dead meat.
She looked me askance. "A tip by someone who either likes me or doesn't like you. Don't know for sure. It was anonymous. Anonymous, but accurate wouldn't you say?" I said.
"Okay, Daniel, you got me. So what now?" she said.
"Is that it?" I said. "That's all you've got to say to me?" I felt unusually calm for someone whose marriage was imploding. I knew the feeling would only be temporary.
"Whaddya want me to say?" she said. "Don't expect me to wring my hands in despair. You caught me, and knowing you, there will be no forgiveness or opportunities for a second chance, so I'm not going to waste my time begging for it. So, just let's get on with it whatever 'it' is going to be." I nodded.
"Pretty cold for someone I thought to be a faithful and loving wife. A wife I have to admit always acted the part of the true and caring spouse. Anyway, I would have expected a little more than what you're 'not' offering today. But, well, maybe this is the real you. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe now I won't have to feel bad about dumping your whoring ass," I said. She winced a little when I described her as a whore. She sighed.
"For the record, Daniel, I do love you. I love you a lot. I also love Gabriel, not as much as you, and in a different way; but I love him too. Now, I'm caught with my pants down; you'll pardon the analogy. I know you're going to divorce me, and I know he'll take care of me when you're gone. So, while I will likely shed a few tears over you soon enough; I'll be getting on with my life," she said. "You need to also."
"This Gabriel, married?" I said. She gave me a look.
"Divorced," she said. I smiled, but it was a sardonic smile. I'd be checking to see if she were lying or ignorant of the truth whatever the truth might turn out to be. I doubted she was either lying or ignorant, but one could hope.
"Okay, you don't wanna try? It's over. I'll call a lawyer in the morning. You sleep in the guestroom tonight," I said. She gave me a look.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you implying that there might be a way out for us—for me?" she said.
"Don't know, you apparently don't want one, a way out I mean, at least not bad enough to try, so no, I guess not," I said. She started pacing.
"Daniel Killingsworth, I know you. You hate women, and men either for that matter, who cheat on their spouses. I'm a cheater; I admit it. So, that has to mean you hate me. Ergo, a divorce is the logical step. Now, am I wrong about any of this?" she said.
"I don't hate anyone, Rachel. I hate what people do to each other sometimes, and adultery is right up there at the top of the list. The hurt that things like what you have done to me is of the worst kind. Still, again, I don't hate anyone, and I don't hate you. But, again, I do hate what you did to me. And, no matter what happens now, I'm gonna be doing a lot of crying and wringing of my hands even if you don't plan on wringing yours," I said.
"I don't want a divorce Dan. I don't," she said. "And, I am sorry that I hurt you. I would never want such a thing. Please accept my apology for that at least even if in the end you decide to dump me."
"You said you love me more than the other guy. What if I said that my condition for forgiving and forgetting was you breaking it off with him?" I said. She took on a strange—maybe thoughtful—expression.
"Why?" she said.
"Why what?" I said.
"Why would you make me do that? If I am reading you right, my fucking him isn't the end of the world for us. And if that is indeed the case, why would it be all that awful if I continued to see Gabriel? He hasn't hurt us in any real way the way I see it. And, I do care for him if not as much as I do for you. I don't want to hurt him either.
"Jesus, I do sound self-serving as hell, don't I. I wish, I hope, I can make you see where I'm coming from, Dan. But, anyway, to answer your question, you're right. If you make me choose, I choose you. I mean if you even are granting me a choice here," she said.
"You know, Rachel, I really never did know you did I? I mean you're coming up with stuff right now that I would have thought unthinkable an hour ago. Hell, they're still unthinkable. And yet, I'm inclined to think about them. Go figure.
"Get him on the phone now. Tell him I discovered you, I'm not happy, and the two of you have to cool it for a while," I said.
"Just until I decide whether to buy into your idea of making me a willing cuckold, or to dump your cheating butt. I am requiring that there is to be no communication between you and him, that is, other than this call which I will be listening in on, until I decide what I'm going to do. Of course, if you decide to choose him over me after all ... well..." I said.
"Daniel, from where I stand, I am seeing a side of you I didn't know was there. I—we—need to think, and to talk. I want to keep seeing my other man on the side. I know that it sounds crazy. But, if you can see your way clear to let me—well—things would be very very good for you, for the both of us," she said. "But, I will make the call. Maybe it'll serve a good secondary purpose."
"Yes, you'll likely hear him say things about you that will lessen the hurt I've put on you. I hope so at least." She nodded and headed for the desk phone across from us. I went into the kitchen to pick up the phone there. I would hear it all.
He picked up on the third ring. I had to guess he lived in Centerville, but I'd know as soon as I checked with the phone company as to the numbers she dialed.
"Well, hi back atcha. Kinda surprised you called. I mean..."
.... There is more of this story ...