There are a lot of ways a guy can discover his wife is cheating. There’s the ever popular, “unexpected arrival home.” Then there’s the tried and true, “a friend clued me in.” Of course, there’s always the time tested, “overheard a conversation.” Me? I was tipped off by The Washington Post. That might seem a bit extraordinary. But most guys aren’t married to a woman who is fucking a U.S. Senator.

I work in private intelligence. We do the same thing that the alphabet agencies do. But it pays ten times better. I started with the 704th Military Intelligence Brigade at Fort Meade. Military Intelligence might sound like an oxymoron. But my unit was headquartered at the same Fort as the NSA. So, I took part in some serious technological shit.

I was just a 23-year-old kid; fresh out of Carnegie-Mellon and totally full of myself. I had a badge to go with the title “Special Agent.” But I was just a Rot-C nerd from the little city of Madison, Wisconsin. Madison might be the State Capitol and it might have a big university in its center. But you don’t have to go very far out of town to be hip deep in cow shit. Consequently, the Beltway culture was both a target-rich environment and kind-of overwhelming for a Wisconsin farm boy.

I hung around with another shavetail. He was named Art. Both of us liked to party. So, we hung out in the Fells Point section of Baltimore. There was nothing to match the perpetual party atmosphere of the Broadway Square area. It was also a lot easier to get back to our off-base quarters from there; since we lived in Glen Burnie.

I was sitting with Art in The Horse You Came in On Saloon. How can you NOT patronize a place that has been “serving drinks since the 18th Century?” We both were a little buzzed. But it was nothing like we were planning for later that night.

We were scoping out a table full of girls. There is nothing like a covey of visibly drunk chicks to attract the predators. And the wolves were beginning to gather. As I watched a few of the women were dragged off to dance. It was clear that everybody was in a happy-place. That is until one of the more obviously wasted dudes decided to cut-out a woman who was not interested in dancing.

There was some pulling and a little yelling followed by a shriek and a loud slap. As the fracas started I nodded an “I got this” to Art and wandered over toward the table. The slapee was about to do something stupid when I grabbed his upraised arm. I said in the calmest voice I could muster, “You need to leave, Sir.”

He was pissed and clearly not in the mood. So, he spun violently to confront me. I just continued his momentum, do-si-doing him around until his arm was twisted up between his shoulder blades. I showed him the badge, which I was holding in my left hand. I wanted to encourage him to reason with me. He gazed at it blearily and muttered, “But she hit me Officer.”

I said, continuing the cop tone of voice, “No harm - no foul, Sir. You’ve ALL had a little too much to drink. Why don’t you and your friends just find some other place to do it?” He looked at the rest of his crew. They shrugged and started toward the door. I released his arm and he staggered after them.

Fortunately, none of them had gotten around to noticing that the badge was issued to an Army Counter-Intelligence Special Agent, not a Baltimore cop. I had the jurisdiction to arrest him; but only if he was involved in a national security crime. At “The Horse” it was just a piece of tin.

The woman looked shaken. Physical confrontations do that to people. I sat down in the empty chair next to her and said, “Are you okay? Can I get you something?” That was the first time I had looked at her. I could see why the college dude had been so insistent.

Women like to think that men pay attention to qualities that they can control - like dress, hair, or makeup. That’s true if there is nothing more intrinsically appealing. But let me assure you ladies. A massive pair of perfectly shaped titties is the ace of trumps when it comes to getting noticed by a guy.

This woman had a pair that even under a modest white silk blouse would set-off civil insurrection in some countries. She was sitting down. So, I couldn’t see anything south of her chest. But once I tore my eyes off her bouncers I realized that she had a lovely face. She looked Italian or Greek; with dark auburn hair, dusky complexion, beautifully proportioned features, and huge, luminous dark eyes.

Those eyes were currently clouded with a mix of anger and fright. She was struggling to calm herself. I put my hand sympathetically on her forearm and said, “It’s okay. I understand that must have been scary but you’re among friends. Nothing is going to happen now.”

The fact that she didn’t yank her arm away was a good sign. I said, still trying to calm her, ‘What’s your name? My name is Paul.” She looked up and focused on me for the first time. I was lost. The crackling blue spark that jumped between our eyes must have lit up the whole bar.

She said shakily, “Janet.” I wasn’t sure whether the shakiness was caused by her recent ugly experience - or what had just passed between us. I said, “Can I get you a drink?” Nothing like a little alcohol to calm the nerves. “What are you drinking?”

She said rather off-handedly, “gin and tonic” and continued to stare into my eyes. Her concentration was unnerving. It was like she was scanning my soul. I said, “I’ll be right back” and rushed a little too hastily up to the bar. I wanted to get away from her for a second just to screw my head back on.

I returned with her G&T and an English IPA for myself. She downed hers in one gulp; impressive. She looked at me and said, “Thank you for stepping in Officer. He scared me. But I don’t let anybody maul me like that.” And she looked down at her incredible girls.

I said, “First I’m not a cop. I have no more jurisdiction than you. The badge is for a federal agent. I am with the Army at Fort Meade.” I really would have thought she could tell who I worked for by the high and tight. I said, “I just flashed the thing to get him to do what he should have done for himself. Authority tends to get your brain working again - even drunks.”

She said, “So you just rode to my rescue on your own. What can I do to thank you?”

That was an open invitation if I ever saw one. I said, “You can have dinner with me tomorrow. Unless you’re already taken. In which case a sincere handshake and a kiss on the cheek will do.” She kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’ll see you at 6:00 tomorrow. I have to get back to the hen party but here’s my address.” And she wrote something on the back of a card.

I turned it over and it said, “Janet A. Wilson JD.” I thought, “Shit! A lawyer!!!” Nevertheless, I was pressing her buzzer at exactly 18:00 the following evening. She lived in a classic single girl condo in Bethesda. All I heard was a lot of yapping and the sound of somebody kicking a dog away from the door.

Then she opened it and every hesitancy about her profession vanished like the morning dew. Last night had been confused with all the drinking and general chaos and I hadn’t really gotten a look at the whole picture. Truth be told I couldn’t take my eyes off her massive rack last night.

Now, the goddess Venus herself was standing in the doorway in a pair of skin tight jeans and a loose sweater. She had incredible curves, long legs, wide hips, tiny waist and of course those double D’s. She was still wrestling with something that resembled a hairless rat. But which I assumed was a Chihuahua. Finally, she bent down and picked it up, displaying a perfect apple shaped ass as she did it.

She was distracted enough by her animal that she didn’t see the look of consternation that crossed my face. There is a constant re-balancing process going on in the single set; whereby everybody seeks their proper level in the social scheme. And I wasn’t so sure that I was playing in the right league.

She gave me a look that was so hot that I was sure my socks were going to burst into flame and said, “Sorry about this but Chiquita thinks she has to protect me from everybody.” The rat showed me its teeth and gave a low warning growl.

I said, “No problem. I love dogs.” She underhanded her varmint back into the room and closed the door. Then she stepped into the hall and took my arm in that universal gesture that women use to indicate possession. She said, “Where are we going?”

I said, “I thought we’d try the Blue Duck. I want to get to know you better and their outdoor terrace is a quiet place to do that.” It was a beautiful clear fall evening in DC. She seemed delighted. She said, “I’ve heard about that place and I’ve really wanted to try it. Rumor has it that it’s very romantic. You don’t have anything sexual planned, do you?” That said with a coquettish grin.

I said jokingly, “Only if you do.” And she hugged my arm to her colossal bosom. I drive a turbocharged silver SLC. Like all good German lads, I need superior engineering and nobody does it better than my people. Okay; maybe my people settled in Wisconsin in the late 1800s. But as far as the family was concerned once a German always a German.

She was surprised; pleasantly, I hoped. She said, “I thought all you big macho studs drove muscle cars?” I said, “This thing is fast enough” I engaged the smooth as silk drivetrain and the 362 horsepower under the hood gave me an instant response.

We talked all the way down to the restaurant. And then we talked some more. Janet was a staffer with Senate Armed Services. She had grown up rich in Chicago and had a classic Gold Coast Education at Northwestern and the University of Chicago Law. She was 26, just like me, and getting her feet under her in the Capitol Hill culture.

The more we talked the more we bonded. She was a knockout. But she was a whole lot more than simply beautiful. She was smart, direct and very funny. I took her back that night and dropped her at the door. She stood on her tip toes and gave me the hottest kiss I had ever been given. We were still embracing standing there. My hands were joined behind her tiny waist. She leaned back with her hands clasped behind my neck studying me with those deep intelligent brown eyes. She said, “I have never felt this way after a first date. I’m not going to fuck you tonight because I am not that kind of girl. But if you come back for a second date I am going to rock your world.”

We hit Blues Alley the following night and she wasn’t kidding. We listened to the music and had a couple of drinks. Whenever she stood up every guy in the room was checking her out. Hell!!! I was checking her out and I was with her.

Men who are with big breasted women know what I’m talking about. It’s a puzzlement why men are so fascinated by over-developed mammary glands. But we undeniably are. If YOUR woman possesses a pair of those things you just have to get used to all the males in the room leering at her.

Anyhow, we got back to her place and she said, “Why don’t you come in for a nightcap?” So, in I came. I wasn’t THAT stupid. We cuddled on the couch for all of five minutes and then the kissing and heavy breathing started. She looked a little irritated. It was like she was miffed that I hadn’t gotten the hint. So, she took the bull by the horns, or whatever appendage might be more appropriate, and guided us into her bedroom.

She walked to the bed unbuttoning her blouse. There was some residual light inside the room and I could see her black industrial strength bra as she turned to face me. She did that teasing thing that women do. She unhooked it and then kept the cups in place with her upper arms. Then she dropped the bra to the floor.

Revealed, in all their glory, were the most spectacular tits ever affixed to a female. She posed for a second, arms down, palms facing out. It was like she was giving me a benediction. The invitation was blatant so I took it. I strode across the room and gently laid her on her back with me lying next to her. She was panting and those huge soft boobs were rising and falling like giant rolling ocean waves. Except these waves were pure white with big brown nipples at their crest. And those nipples were sticking straight up like miniature Nuks. She reached down and slid her skirt and panties off. I quickly cleared my own decks. I leaned over and kissed her, her mouth opened like a flower. She was red hot. By opening herself to me like that; she conveyed that she was totally in the moment with me.

In my experience, I have found that women with Janet’s kind of endowments don’t bring anything else to the party. They seem to think that men should be grateful that the woman has deigned to allow them to handle the goods. On the other hand; Janet brought total warfare.

She was a strong woman with a supple body. Her tummy was flat but not muscular. It was a perfect landscape to kiss down. When I reached that delightful place where her thighs joined I dipped my tongue in and she went nuts.

She uttered a long unearthly groan and elevated her legs off the bed. Then she spread them impossibly wide with toes pointed. That started a frantic up-and-down movement of her hips against my face. Which culminated a minute or so later in a very loud orgasm.

When THAT happened, her legs started beating on the bed, as she processed the feeling. She grabbed my head and dragged me up her sweaty body; as the ripples passed across her stomach. It was either go along or lose my ears. She said, “Get in me right now!!! You have to get inside me!!! DO IT NOW!!!”

She slithered herself around underneath me, inserted me into her boiling hot slit and threw her legs straight up in the air. My sliding up inside her tight and wildly churning passage produced an unearthly shriek of passion and she humped violently up to get me further in her.

Then we began to move. It was like an old-fashioned steam engine pulling out of a station. First a lot of measured deep breathing. That was followed by increasing loud panting. And then the cadenced moaning started like the rhythmic clickity-clack of a train at full speed.

The recurring wet slapping sounds and my loud grunts and gasps were counterpointed by her increasingly impassioned cries. She had her heels locked against the back of my knees and the exciting smell of sex permeated the room. Her face was a mask of passion and those huge pendulous tits were moving in wide cycles as they swung and shook on her chest.

I had just about gotten to where I wanted to get to when she let loose a ridiculously loud shriek. I could feel her insides fizz like a shaken-up bottle of champagne as she came. She relaxed for a second but I needed my cookies at that point.

So, I continued to pound her at an increasingly powerful rate. Her eyes bugged impossibly wide and she yelled, “OH MY GOD!!! I’M CUMMING AGAIN!!!!” And she went off on an outrageous series of writhing and bucking maneuvers, all the while making a noise like she was choking to death. Her legs and lower stomach were literally quivering as they held me in a death grip.

The uncontrollable contractions of her passage finally got me to my destination. And I arrived like an out of control freight train. That set her off in a final very loud orgasm. We held our intimate breeding posture for a couple of minutes while I pumped into her. I thought that there wouldn’t be any fluid left in my body. When we were done, we were lying in a sweaty heap. I got a little rationality back. She was looking at me like she thought she had done something wrong. I said, “What?”

She said, “Do you think I’m some kind of wanton whore? I’ve never been that out of control in my life.”

I laughed out loud and said, “Every man wants a lady in the living room and a whore in the bedroom. You just totally fucked my brains out. How could I NOT love you?” Oh shit!!! After two dates, I had done the unforgivable!!! I’d used the forbidden “L” word. I knew that I might as well just put on my pants and leave - before she called the cops to evict me.

Instead she grabbed my neck in both hands, looked in my eyes and with touching sincerity said, “I love you too.” So, it all began. We dated for six months, which was the time it took for us to be completely comfortable with each other.

I met her parents when they came for the wedding. I could tell that the Dress Blues and the medals were responsible for most of their admiration. That was what the uniform was designed to do. I wasn’t going to enlighten them about the fruit salad. Most of those were the same shit that everybody else gets. The Army likes their people to look like heroes when they’re dressed up.

We settled into married life in a little place in Greenbelt. She could take the Green Line in to L’Enfant and Capitol South and I could drive up the Baltimore-Washington Parkway to the Fort. It was an idyllic period in both of our lives. Janet was making her way up the ranks of Congressional staffers and I was finishing off my hitch as a Captain.

After I got out, I was recruited to a private firm in Roslyn. I was doing the same kind of analytics but the pay was well into six figures, which was a tribute to the amount of “War on Terror” money that was washing around DC. We mortgaged ourselves to the hilt and bought a condo on the C&O Towpath in Georgetown. Vienna would have been a lot cheaper but both of us liked the Georgetown vibe. We did all the things that 34 year olds would do down there.

Our love life continued to be perfect. We made love four or five times a week, often more than once. We always had an affectionate, easygoing, relationship. We laughed a lot and we had wonderful quiet Sundays together, both of us with a book and Chopin playing on the house speakers. All-in-all it was everything you could ever expect, or ask for, in a marriage.

One of the advantages of commercial intelligence work is that you have nine-to-five hours, not like it was when I was on active service. I was doing mostly analytics with a team of bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed GWU and Georgetown graduates.

It was the usual generic threat assessment stuff. But it was on an attack surface that was businessy, rather than military. My people were only eight to ten years younger than me but between my service time and the fact that I was their boss they tended to treat me like I was Methuselah. I enjoyed the respect but I missed the army camaraderie.

Janet dressed like she always did - businesslike. A smart and capable woman like Janet wants to be appreciated for what she does, not how she looks. And her tits and ass are distracting unless she tones them down with low heels, a classic grey pencil skirt and a silk blouse.

Janet had been promoted to a senior policy position the previous December. It was a nice bump-up in pay. But the downside was that she had to spend late nights on the Hill and at Committee events. Her hours were a little more erratic since she was tied to the Committee. There would be long periods when she spent her spare time working on constituent projects and she was home long before I was. Then there were the crash periods, particularly around budget time, where she might be up on the Hill all day and well into the night.

She was the Chief Policy Advisor for the Chair of the Committee. The Chair himself was from one of those Bible Belt States where, based on the people they sent to Congress, you wondered if ANY of his constituents had gotten out of the ninth grade before they married their sister.

The promotion was unexpected since you normally serve a long apprenticeship before you get a true advisory role. But, it was clearly deserved; at least in my mind. Janet is a very smart woman and frankly I thought that she was a lot more capable than the guy she was advising.

I had met him a few times. He was right out of central casting for Senators; with the stalwart height and the forthright gaze and the determined chin. He was 50ish handsome and he had the resolute look of a leader. But he was slicker than deer guts on a doorknob, he had never actually served, and his thick wavy hair was a rug.

Nonetheless, he did have the “Foghorn J. Leghorn” act down to a science. He told the herd what they wanted to hear, no matter how illogical the message. It was an admirably cynical approach to political reality. But the people voting for him were cattle anyhow.

My own assessment of the guy was that he was a total narcissist with the personal integrity of a used car salesman. As far as he was concerned everything was up for sale. But he had done three terms in the Senate and the seniority system had put him in a position where he could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that “power corrupts.”

His blond wife was as elegant and nuancedly sophisticated as her husband was a card-carrying redneck. She obviously came from big money and bigger influence in their State, which was why the esteemed Member of Congress was in the Senate in the first place.

She was a dead ringer for the older Grace Kelly, blond slim and regal. While his four kids were stepping stones from 22 to 31. All of them attended out-of-state schools which spoke volumes about the Senator’s view of his own State’s education system.

Janet said that this truly shady example of American democracy was a good-guy. Personally, I didn’t have any confidence that my tax money was in good hands. And I didn’t like the sneer he gave me when we first met. I was aware that he was considerably further up the totem pole than I was. But it was family money that had put him there, not innate intelligence and hard work.

As a senior staffer, Janet was expected to attend functions related to the Committee. I went with her if it was necessary, especially if it was a social event. But when she was working she went by herself. Obviously, she always had to dress for the occasion.

I was sitting in our den when she appeared in the doorway to say goodbye. She was going down to the Kennedy Center for some event that was honoring somebody. They are always handing out honors to each other so it is hard to keep track.

She was dressed in a simple deep blue Versace gown. The effect was breathtaking. It showed enough of her huge mounds and her stunning legs to look sexy without seeming to really try. With her perfectly made-up face and the body underneath that dress I knew that she would have all the geezers eating out of the palm of her hand.

She was clearly in a pensive mood. I said inquiringly, “What’s up?” She said, “Oh nothing.” Then she said with emotion in her voice, “Have you ever thought about just chucking it all and living on a beach somewhere?”

Where did that come from!!!? She had obviously been under stress for the past several months. But with the new fiscal year and all the battles over appropriations September is a tough time on the Hill. I thought to myself, “Perhaps she’s just wearing down from all of the latent skullduggery?

I said, “No I haven’t actually. But my job is nowhere near as stressful as yours. We should discuss it. Maybe it’s time to talk about peddling your services on K Street.” She gave me a glum look and said, “Maybe it is. But the power is hard to give up. It’s intoxicating”

Then she brightened and said, “Let’s sail down to Point Lookout next weekend? It would be just you and me and nature.” And she gave me one of her patented hot looks. I knew what THAT meant. We sail a C&C 40. We had spent a few of our most romantic weekends laying up in Piscataway Creek off Fort Washington.

We would revel in the quietude of nature and from time-to-time we would make the boat rock. Then we would finish the weekend with a nice dinner in National Harbor, or Old Town Alexandria. I said, “Sure babe. We need to get you away from all the craziness and get back to just you and me; like the old times. Before you became a Capitol Hill power broker.

I rose and walked over to kiss her goodbye. She seemed sad. But she was looking at me with utter devotion. She turned and walked to the door in her 4 inch heels, leaving a trail of her special perfume. That scent sets off incredible yearning in the male animal.

She looked back brightly and said, “I’ll probably spend the night at the Watergate. That’s where the reception is and I don’t want to drive back after that much drinking.” That wasn’t an abnormal circumstance. It had been her usual routine since she took over the senior position. So, I said jokingly, “I’ll be safe and sound here. And no hookers, or call girls for me tonight – I promise.”

She looked at me like she wasn’t sure I was joking. So, I gave her a big smile and said, “Kidding”. She smiled back at me and closed the door. She didn’t get back until late Sunday night. She had called that morning and told me that there were some things that she was working on back at the Russell Building and she would be tied up all day.

With nothing better to do, I spent my day down at the Marina doing all the maintenance that you should do to keep a boat ship-shape. As the old saying goes, “If you want to know what sailing feels like just stand in a cold shower and tear up fifty dollar bills.” Nevertheless, it was an utterly peaceful and rewarding day. I took a nap, ate on the boat and drove back. Janet arrived less than a half hour later.

She went straight upstairs to drop her stuff and change. She had taken a little bag with her when she left. I was waiting with a fresh G&T when she reappeared. She was in a pair of skintight yoga pants and a big loose University of Chicago sweatshirt. Her hair was tied back and she looked exhausted.

I sat down on the big sectional couch and she snuggled under my arm. She said, “I am getting tired of all this stress. Once this year’s Authorization Act gets passed I am going to take some time off and we can reconnect. I know I’ve been way too busy over the past year and I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish. I promise that is going to change.”

Then she kissed me passionately. I was working my hands up under her sweatshirt with my target being those big unrestrained boobs. But she broke the kiss and said, “Not tonight buster. I’m way too tired to enjoy it properly.”

She added, “Be prepared tomorrow though. I am not going into the Office. I’m going to lie around here all day so I will be rested and ready to kick your ass.” And with that she finished her drink and made her way upstairs.

I sat there for a while thinking about what she had said. She HAD been preoccupied for some time and she had also been away from home a lot more than usual. It seemed to correspond with her promotion and so I was wondering if she wasn’t considering my suggestion that it was time to move on into the lobbying industry. That was where the real money was anyhow.

She had sounded sincere about her desire to reconnect; no question about that. So perhaps she had decided that the time had come for another item we had been planning. That was the baby. We had been putting THAT off until we got our career groove on. But at 34 – almost 35 - she was not getting any younger.

She was still asleep when I left for work the next day. She looked both innocent and incredibly sexy, with her tousled hair framing her angelic face. I got my usual breakfast at the Starbucks next to the Rosslyn Metro station. It’s where the Georgetown Blue Shuttle stops. Then I wandered into work feeling more upbeat than I had in quite a while.

It was a beautiful fall day. And the entire City of Washington glittered outside my sixth-floor window. I was feeling particularly up-beat. It sounded like Janet and I might have entered a new phase in the twists and turns of our life.

There was a knock at my door and Kari, who is my sidekick and general all around work buddy stuck her head in. Kari is 26 and has been my indispensable right hand for the past three years. She had come to me fresh out of Georgetown. I had mentored her for the first year. But for the past two years she had showed promise of surpassing me. She was super-smart, funny and always full of life. And her analytic skills were second to none.

She and Janet were similar in many ways, intelligent, beautiful, energetic and tough. But where Janet had that voluptuous body Kari was elfin – that is if elves had really big tits. Kari had short white blond hair that appeared to be natural and the biggest green eyes seen outside of the cat species.

She was all of five-one and she looked like Tinker Belle; if you left off the wings and slutty costume. She had a tight, round, lithe little body, and she might weigh all of 110 pounds soaking wet. The irony was that, one of Kari’s heavenly designers had gotten the idea that it might be fun to stick a huge pair of Ds on her tiny frame. I assume that it was just to see if she could stand upright without falling on her face.

The outcome of that experiment was that my work buddy also sported a remarkable pair of jugs. I say that with the greatest due respect. Since the only sexual feelings that I had for Kari were abstract. I appreciated that she was a knock-out. But that appreciation didn’t extend any further than a general sense of how attractive she was to men.