The Presumption of Guilt

by RichardGerald

Copyright© 2018 by RichardGerald

Mystery Sex Story: The wife of an organized crime lawyer has an affair with the detective who is following her, complications ensue.

Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Reluctant   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Crime   Humor   Mystery   Cheating   Cuckold   Oral Sex   2nd POV   Slow   .

The Falcons Rest is a bar and grill out old route 7. It is located where three counties intersect and is a little beyond the city limits. The Rest, as it is known, is what is sometimes referred to as a cop bar because a significant number of the patrons are from the members of law enforcement. As a place for a clandestine meeting, it would be last on most people’s lists which placed it first on mine.

I parked in the well-filled lot and headed for the main entrance. As cop bars go, the Rest is better appointed than most with a large open bar room well stocked with tables for seating its guests. On the last Friday of the month, it had a large number of customers but was not overly crowded. It was the perfect situation for my meeting with sergeant Devin Cross. It had enough witness to make the meeting appear anything but clandestine.

As I entered, I drew hostile stares from the majority of the patrons. I would have expected nothing less as the lawyer suspected of killing his unfaithful wife and her patrol officer lover. There was no conviction or indictment, of course, hard to do either without evidence. No bodies had been found, and the lover’s car had gone missing with the lovebirds. Nevertheless, I was guilty. The couple had vanished without a trace. I had the motive, and I was a sleazy lawyer. Who would need more proof outside of a courtroom?

Devin arrived looking none too happy with my choice of meeting place. He was a tall, well-built black man. He was what can only be described as an honorable man. He was here to pay a debt, and thereby purge his soul of the guilt he bore just by being obligated to a man of my character.

At this point dear reader, I will be candid and state that I’m what they refer to as bent or crooked, a lawyer who does not claim the least bit of moral character. I’m the unindicted co-conspirator of a half-dozen organized crime pleadings. Poor Devin had fallen on truly hard times the day he walked into my office with a thick packet of foreclosure papers.

The then office Devin Cross of the Metropolitan police had fallen victim to the predatory lenders of the great mortgage fraud, and in those early days of 2008, he with his wife and four kids were about to become just another sad homeless statistic. He made the rounds to all the honest and quasi-honest lawyers without receiving any significant help. He turned to me out of pure desperation.

In truth, I don’t know why I helped him. There was nothing in it for me. He was an honest cop and a good man who was loyal to his friends, but no one I could use. He couldn’t pay. Being an honest man, he told me this right off. The scammers on the internet had taken his last dollars. The foreclosure was the following day. He just sat there in my office a big physically powerful man, with tears forming at the corners of his eyes, telling me about his daughter, his little princess. She had cancer, and he didn’t know how to tell her and her brothers that they were about to lose their home.

I filed the bankruptcy to stop the sale. Then I had some of my more disreputable clients visit the mortgage broker and obtain a confession that the documents used in the foreclosure were false. In other words, the mortgage crook face by two more violent felons told the truth for once. It then only took a larger bribe to the court than Deutsche bank was willing to pay to get actual justice for once.

Why did I do all that? I still can’t tell you, but Devin Cross had a hard time living with the knowledge that his family’s home had been saved by a crook like me.

“You picked an odd place to meet,” he said.

“Even a guy like me has some conscience. I couldn’t let you get jammed up helping me out.”

“So, you picked this place?” he said as Lottie the barmaid came up.

She was dressed as usual in a tight top that didn’t cover her midriff and pants that seemed to be painted on. She was a very pretty girl who was unafraid to show her assets.

“What can I get you, Bruce?” she said to me.

She and I had a long association of harmless flattery and overindulgent tips on my part. She had a young son and no man at home having made the mistake of choosing sex appeal over dependability. I could see the tension in Lottie’s manner. Everyone said I was guilty. Accordingly, I must be, and therefore, anyone associated with me would suffer. Still, I noticed that Lottie had come to the table when she could have pushed my service off onto another.

Lottie was a good friend. As it was turning out, I had more like her than I realized. I wouldn’t want them to suffer for their loyalty. I needed to do something to get my life back and assure people they could relax around me. Devin Cross was in his way throwing me a life preserver, but I needed to make the most of it.

“Bring us two Boston Lagers, Lottie,” I said.

“I got to admit you got guts counselor. Walking into this place filed with Paul Moreno’s friend and work buddies,” Devin said.

Paul Moreno was the bastard who had seduced my wife and thereby put me in the shit. He, his Ford GT, and my wife had disappeared the night of March 17, Saint Patrick’s Day, and the night before back to back thunderstorms flooded the three counties around the Schoharie Creek. This body of water would be called a river in any of the western states, but here it was misnamed a creek. A beguiling title which led to much suffering. People persisted in bridging over and building around this treacherous but modestly named watercourse. They paid a high price in lives and property for misjudging the Schoharie.

By early on the eighteenth of March, all the emergency crews were out saving the people stranded by the flood. No one noticed that my wife and her prick lover were missing for a few days. Then, of course, suspicion immediately fell on me.

“Victory belongs to the bold as the saying goes,” I told Devin, and we talked about nothing much while he worked up to doing what he came for.

I waited through two rounds of beers, and then I said, “Just tell me what you came to say, and I’ll do the rest. Trust me, and no one will ever believe the tip came from you.”

So, he leaned in and whispered, “They have a warrant and will be hitting your home and offices on Sunday at six a.m.”

I pushed my chair back and then stood letting it fall before I shouted, “Listen when I want advice I won’t seek it from some metro pig, and he’ll be a better friend than you. For the last time, I don’t know what happened to my wife.”

I stormed out leaving a rather confused Devin behind me, but he was a smart guy and would figure out that everyone would believe the worst of him. They would think him an ambitious cop seeking to advance himself on our relationship. A confession from me would be a feather in any cop’s cap. Trying to wheedle a confession from me wouldn’t hurt him but being seen with me in a surreptitious meeting would have ruined him. This way things were so public no one would believe he had warned me.

As I exited the Falcon Rest, I let out a sigh. I had only myself to blame that things had come to this sorry state. I had let my heart overrule my head. Now I must work my ass off to claw my way out from behind the eight ball that we call justice in this country. Still, the words of my late wife’s dairy haunted me. They were a swarm of killer bees stinging my heart until all the blood seeped away.

October first the diary of Elaine Grey (Mrs. Bruce Grey)

I saw him again today. He’s very tall and handsome with that wavy black hair of his. Jenny says she knows him. In fact, she has slept with him. He’s a police officer which must mean that he is following me because of something involving Bruce.

It is truly hard to believe that a rather drab man like Bruce can engender such suspicion in others, but I guess that comes with being the attorney for such high-profile criminals. I mean the people he deals with are so much more interesting than poor Bruce. Don’t get me wrong; I love him dearly. He’s a cuddly teddy bear. The kind of man that you feel safe with. Why people think him dangerous, I will never know.

Jenny says the police officer following me is a real stud, very well endowed. His name is Paul Moreno. Jenny dated him off and on over the last six months. Her husband Bob is like a clone of my Bruce except for the fact that he has a dull real estate practice and is not some black hat criminal defense attorney. You can’t really blame Jenny for succumbing to the edgy stud of a police officer. I mean the temptation is so great. After seven years of marriage and two kids she is looking for a little excitement, or so she says. Me after fifteen years with a fourteen-year-old daughter I’m ready for the rocking chair on the back porch. Women like me just don’t attract the attention of young studs. It makes me feel so old!


October fifteenth

Bruce is away again. I swear that man makes more out of town trips. If it was anyone else, I would suspect infidelity, but the man is as faithful as a spaniel and just about as exciting.

Joined a gym today. It was Jenny who goaded me into it. She’s into a fitness craze and needed a partner. I’m not in that bad a shape, not like Bruce who is suffering from middle age spread, but Jenny needed a partner, and I can use the physical tone. I increased my morning run from one to two miles, but I need to work on my tummy and butt. I’m feeling the empty nest anxiety. Maybe getting into shape will help.

Why did I let my fourteen-year-old talk me into that boarding school? I swear Rachael is just like my mother all female ambition. No concern for others at all. My mother still mocks my choice of professions, but I believe that helping others is the highest calling that any individual can aspire to. Being a social worker is often frustrating, but on those rare days when you know that you have helped another human being transform their life, there is no greater reward.

On the other hand, Rachael may be trying to escape the stigma of Bruce’s profession. People say such cruel things. A teenage girl can be very sensitive. Perhaps it is better all-around if Rachael is away, but a mother can’t help missing her child.

I saw him again today. God, but he is handsome. He was at my gym. What a stud he is. He was wearing this tight outfit. You could see the sculptured shape of his abdominal muscles, but I tried not to stare at the bulge in his shorts. That can’t really be all him. Why he keeps following me, I will never know, but Paul Moreno is sure easy on the eyes.


October Seventeenth

Saw Paul Moreno at the gym again today. He caught me looking at him, but all he did was hold eye contact until I was forced to look away. Jenny says he must be interested in me, but I can’t see why unless it has something to do with Bruce.

When I got home, I did something I haven’t done in a while, I masturbated. I got a glass of wine and my silver bullet; then I leaned back against the headboard of the bed. I tried to let my fantasy run where it would, but it kept coming back to Paul, his hard-muscled body and his huge endowment. I tried not to think of him; it seems so disloyal to Bruce. It was just a harmless fantasy. I came so quick. There’s no harm in make-believe, right?


November second.

Voted today not that it makes any difference. I saw Paul again as I exited the polling place. He didn’t try to hide. He hadn’t been following me for a while, but the last few days he was back. He actually said hi to me. So, I stopped and spoke to him.

“Are you back following me?” I asked.

“Well, that’s my job and my excuse.”

“Excuse?”

“Well, what would you say if I just followed you around?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Oh stop. I’m the mother of a teenager.”

“Ever heard the term MILF.”

“No, what’s that?”

“The term for a hot mother like you who turns on all the young guys.”

“Stop, I’m an old lady.”

“A lady yes, unfortunately, but not old just sexy mature.”

Just then I saw someone I knew and broke off the conversation. I can’t believe he flirted with me that way. Admittedly, I’ve lost five pounds and tightened up my ass since joining the gym, but still a young hot guy like that being interested. It certainly pays to hang in there. At first, I was intimidated by all those young girls with their hard bodies but getting a personal trainer and staying with it clearly is paying off.

Bruce has sure noticed. Two dozen roses just arrived. When I called to ask why, he just said because he felt like sending them to his beautiful wife. What can you say about a man like that? I love him dearly. I may flirt with a handsome younger man, but I will not betray my loving husband.


“Jake,” I said as soon as he picked up.

“Jesus! you know what time it is, counselor?”

“I’ve been calling you since about nine.”

“I was on a job,” Jake Trumble replied.

“Well, I have a new job for you.”

“Couldn’t it wait.”

“No, it’s a rush—rush.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I need a full on black cover at my residence and office by sunrise Sunday.”

“This Sunday?”

“Yes, this Sunday.”

“It takes seventy-two hours at least you’re giving me at best twenty-four.”

“Sorry, I just got word I needed it.”

“Well, it’s going to cost you.”

“How much?”

“Thirty-five,” Jake said.

“After all the business, I sent your way?”

“That’s my special price. For anyone else, it would be fifty.”

Jake didn’t say that it was highly unlikely I would survive to send him any more business. Moreover, at this point business associate or not, I was in no position to bargain. He could have charged me anything, and I would have to pay.

“Ok, but get it done,” I said.


November Ninth.

I’ve seen Paul three times in the last week. Now he always smiles and waves. Jenny had a full-blown affair with the man. She says that he’s the best she ever had in bed. He’s twenty-nine, eight years my junior. Jenny says he makes her feel like she’s being taken for the first time.

“There’s nothing like the feeling that big cock of his gives you.”

I asked her whether he was worth risking her marriage for, and she told me to ask that question again after I had my first nine-inch cock.

He can’t really be that large, can he? I’m afraid just thinking about him has been getting me all hot. Last night, I attacked Bruce when he came home. I guess there are some benefits to having our daughter out of the house. Bruce performed beautifully. He fucked me and ate me and gave me three orgasms, but I’m ashamed to admit that the entire time I was thinking about Paul. Am I so depraved that I need to be thinking of another man when my husband is making beautiful love to me?

Today as I sat in Starbucks, sipping my mocha latte, Paul came and sat down at my table. For a long time, he just sat there staring at me as I scrupulously ignore him, but finally, he broke the silence.

“I’ve been reassigned,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m not officially following you anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, among other things it means my bosses have decided that whatever crimes your husband is committing that you are no part of anything illegal, “ he said. Then he reached across the table to cover my hand with his and said, “But it also means that I can now tell you how attracted I am to you. I wish that we could get to know each other better.”

“You know I’m married what does getting to know me better mean?”

He reached his other hand over and took mine between his,” It means that you are a beautiful woman married to a man who can’t possibly fulfill you. You deserve to experience love as it was meant to be between a man and a woman.”

“What about Jenny. I hear that you and she are a thing.”

“What Jenny and I had was purely sexual. She is unfulfilled sexually in her marriage, but I’m looking for something more. Besides you can’t really believe that any man would choose Jenny over you,” he said with a smile.

“As I said, I’m married. I have never cheated on my husband.”

“Can he say the same?”

“You’ve seen my husband. What do you think?”

“I think we both know that you deserve more.”

With that, I got up leaving most of my latte unfinished. I needed to get out of there. That man had an effect on me that made me uneasy.


December First

I hadn’t seen Paul since he confronted me in the coffee shop, and I began to fear and at the same time take solace in the possibility that I might not see him again. I had regrets about this. His attentions were amazing for my ego, and I had to admit that I desired him on a purely physical level. Moreover, I had never been with any man, but my husband. I admit to a curiosity as to what another man, particularly one so well-endowed and skilled a lover, would be like.

I was walking to my car in the DSS lot after work. I was more than a little late having been held up by paperwork. The lot was well lit but empty. As I walked to my car, I had a distinct feeling that someone was watching me. I bent down to open the door, and suddenly he was there right next to me. I jumped back frightened.

“Paul, you near scared me to death. Are you stalking me now?”

“Sorry,” he said as his hand found my waist beneath my overcoat that had pulled open, “I just had to see you. I think of you all the time.”

I suppose I should have been frightened, but the truth was that he had been near constantly on my mind. I wanted to see him again.”

“Please,” I begged “leave me be. I can’t do this to my husband!”

All he did in response was lean down and kiss me. He was so big and tall, so masculine and powerful. He overwhelmed my senses, and like some romance cliché, I felt the electricity in his kiss. Some force passed between us.

“I need you,” he said, “More than any women I have ever known. If it was just on my side, I would let you be, but I feel your body calling to me.”

I couldn’t help myself I kissed him back, but then I pushed him away jumping into my car saying, “I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.”


They didn’t bother to knock. Four assault garbed officers picked the door lock and stormed into my home at sunrise Sunday morning. I expect they assume they would find me asleep. I was up and, in the kitchen, making what the travel brochures term a full English breakfast. Admittedly, I had substituted lox for the kippers, but I had found a specialty shop that had kidney pie.

I was just scrambling up a big pan of eggs when the first stormtrooper reached the kitchen.

“I hope you like your eggs scrambled,” I said as he grabbed me and forced me out of the house. They held me in a police van while they tore my house apart. They did the obvious bit of tearing up the carpet and digging up the flower beds. I was glad that I had mostly gone for hardwood floors. They prided up a few boards but mostly left the upper floors untouched. The basement they trashed.

My biggest gripe was their breaking into the trunk of my car. This seemed pure spite since I had left the keys conveniently in the ignition, but destruction seemed to be the order of the day. For all of it, they weren’t all bad. When the destruction of my house ceased, a couple of the officers I had become friends with over the years took me out for lunch at Denny’s

“Where did you put the bodies, Bruce,” they asked as I ate what the menu called “the big breakfast” which was a decided disappointment after the meal I had planned.

“As far as I can see, there are no bodies.”

“Come on, they disappeared in March. It’s October now.”

“Do you think it will rain today? It’s been very dry since those spring and summer storms. With my flower beds gone, I’m going to need to replant my bulbs if I want flowers this spring. Still, I’m better off than those people around the Schoharie Creek,” I said referring to the flooding by the creek.

My companions at Denny’s had no consideration for flood victims or flowers. They were interested in one thing only. They wanted my confession in the worst way because ultimately, they had actually no evidence. The problem was I knew that condition could change as rapidly as a creek could flood.

“I wouldn’t expect to see spring flowers if I were you, but It will go easier on you if you help us out here. We know You had a good reason for what you did. Maybe you just lost your head. Stop being a lawyer for once and be a man. Take responsibility, and we can help you.”

“I don’t think it will rain. It seems like we’re in for a dry spell after all the wet weather. I’ll swing by Lowes for some bulbs.”

“Ok, have it your way lawyer, but cop killers get fried in this state. You might want to think hard on that.”


December Ninth

I had the day from hell. We got the call early. Five kids in need of protection. I don’t work child protection usually. However, it’s our busy season and the time of year when we go short-handed. Between a bad flu season and people needing time for the holidays, there was a need to be flexible. Still, five children under seven needing emergency care was a bad day.

They were all traumatized. They had just seen their mother beaten nearly to death, by the man they had been calling father. He was related by blood to only two, but still, he was someone they looked to for protection, and he had betrayed them. I didn’t want to split them up, or put them into a county facility for Christmas, but what could be done?

About noon, I found a couple in their early sixties who had raised their own kids and were still in great physical shape. Both were recent state retirees who were chafing under the loss of purpose in their lives. The wife was a nurse and the husband a highway engineer. By four o’clock we had the kids placed temporarily and a support system in place for the new foster parents.

I was feeling pretty good when the State DSS called to say that they were not happy with the placement. It was the same old BS you always get from the state. The welfare of the kids was less important than some rule interpretation they had decided upon. If you can believe it, they were concerned that the child care payment was being made to individuals on the state retirement system.

“This could be considered double dipping,” the woman from the state said.

For an hour we went around and around on this issue. It went all the way up to the County Executive and The State DSS commissioner. Just when I thought the placement would fall through, I heard from the prospective foster parents.

“When will the kids be here?” the woman asked, “We have everything ready. Two of my daughters are here to help out.”

“Well, you see the state is concerned that the foster child payments will not be permissible since you are receiving a state pension,” I said.

What was said next was spoken in true anger. “Well, you tell that SOB of a governor to keep his lousy payment. Just send those kids.”

When the County executive heard this, she laughed and said, “Well, send the kids. We can always sue the state later for the money.”

It took me another three hours to get the kids to their new foster home and settled in. By the time I could head home it was almost eight and near nine before I arrived. First thing, I took a hot shower. I debated calling Bruce. Sometimes when I call him, we can speak for hours, but other times he is clearly pressed for time. I get the impression that his clients can be quite demanding. Usually, I try to wait for him to call, but tonight I just needed to tell someone about my day.

I had my terry cloth robe on and was just about to call Bruce when the doorbell rang. I pulled my robe tight and went to the door. I opened it on the chain. Paul was standing there looking oh so good and just a little guilty.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied.

“I know your husband is out of town again. You are all alone. All I ask is to come in and socialize. Maybe a cup of coffee and some conversation.”

“I can’t,” I said.

“You can trust me,” he said.

“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s me.”

“Please just a few minutes.”

I don’t know why I let him in, but I did. I made us coffee and sat down with him at the opposite end of our large sectional couch. I pulled my robe hem down as I sat. It was an ample garment, but way too short to be comfortable in this situation.

“Relax,” he said, “I’m not here to take advantage of you. I’m here as a friend. I heard through the grapevine you had one hell of a day.”

“Yes,” I replied, and we proceeded to discuss my day, and it did relax me. I told myself there was nothing wrong here with two acquaintances sitting and having a drink. We did switch from coffee to wine and shared some frozen pizza for dinner.

It must have been close to midnight when he said what he must have come for, “Elaine, I will always be your friend, but you have to know that I feel a passion for you that I can only describe as love.”

At this, I shifted nervously.

“Please,” he said “Let me finish. Right now, your husband is in New York meeting with organized crime figures and their personal anti surveillance expert. They are planning how to defeat the government wiretapping program. These are evil men, and he is helping them evade justice.”

“Stop, I won’t listen to this. It’s not fair. Bruce isn’t here to defend himself.”

“You’re very loyal but is it fair to you to be tied to such a man. As I followed you and fell in love with you, I learned what a wonderful and caring woman you are. Your life is helping others. You’re a saint married to a devil. But, I want you to know that I will always be here for you, no matter what.”

We had been moving ever closer on the couch during the evening as we had spoken. Before I realized it, his hands had slipped within my robe, and we were kissing. I knew that this was wrong, but as his hands caressed my bare flesh and his lips pressed against mine, I knew I couldn’t hold back.

His hand slipped into my panties and soon found my all to ready sex. I was wet for him, and his touch just felt so good. As his fingers slipped within me, I gave a soft moan. We both knew where this was headed, but it was a freight train that didn’t want to stop. I was helpless, and then I heard the phone ringing.

It must have been ringing for some time. Suddenly that fact clicked as did who was calling.

“Bruce,” I said pushing out of Paul’s grip.

It was Bruce on the phone.

“Just checking in,” he said, “Sorry I must have woken you up. The time got away from me.”

I pulled myself together to answer him and try to have a normal conversation. Bruce was in a talkative mood, and he went on and on. As Bruce spoke, I could look over to see Paul on the couch becoming more and more impatient. Finally, Paul gave me a sad smile and quietly left.

I had been saved by Bruce’s call from committing an irreparable breach of my marriage. But, did I want to be saved? Paul’s touch still burned on me. He had made me feel a passion no man had ever stirred in me before.


The DA’s conference room had a sad last century appearance as if it hadn’t changed a bit in the last twenty years, as in all probability it hadn’t.

Tanya Marshall was the daughter of a former state senator. A man who had avoided prosecution and retire with enough juice to ensconce his daughter in the DA’s office. As ADAs go, she was no better or worse than rest of that sorry lot who oppress the poor and defenseless and complain that the rich are able to hire defense lawyers.

“Where is your gun, Mr. Grey?” she asked,” we didn’t find it when we search your house.”

“Gun?” I asked.

“The Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum registered to you.”

“Is it missing?”

“You know it is.”

“Sorry, this is the first I’m hearing. It was kept in the top drawer of my bedroom nightstand. Is it really gone?”

“This would go easier all around if we could be straight with each other,” she said.

“Ok, you start what is the evidence your officers allegedly extracted from my residence?”

“All in good time,” she said.

“Well then, I will answer your questions all in good time,” I said standing up.

“In that case,” she said handing me a notice of my right to appear before the grand jury. The notice was the true purpose of the meeting. I had no intention of appearing. The conclusion was a certainty. I was to be indicted on two counts of murder.

To be fair, the DA had no choice they had broken into my wife’s desk and seized her diary. They knew the whole sad tale of her infidelity. Of course, in the minds of women like Tanya, it read like a love story with a tragic ending. My view was somewhat different.

It was a shame about the desk. It was a narrow little drop front, a late colonial antique. It had sat in the dealer’s front window for near a year. We were newly married and with our daughter Rachael just learning to walk. Elaine was going to school part-time for her MSW in social work. I was a poor newly minted lawyer, but I loved my wife, and I knew how much she wanted that desk. She paused each time we passed that window to stare at that desk.

I put aside every penny I could find, but when I went to buy it for our anniversary, it no longer was in the window. I went into the store my heart sinking and asked for the little desk that had sat in the window. The girl behind the counter looked confused, but when she asked the manager, he indicated that it had been placed at the back of the shop.

When they delivered it to our little apartment, Elaine was overjoyed. Over the years, I would watch her at that desk and think how lucky I was to have her for my wife. Love is a funny thing. I’ve decided it’s all about those small moments. Your wife’s joy over the little antique desk, seeing my daughter’s first steps, moving into our first house, and seeing my wife all proud getting her MSW. You put all the moments together, and you have something called love.

They ripped the desk draws open and found the diary. I suppose I could have left the draws unlocked, but then they might have overlooked their contents. Locking the draws gave them significance, and I needed them to take the diary. Still, the destruction of the desk hurt. Maybe it brought home that Elaine was truly lost to me.

The diary had the intended effect. Its contents soon leaked out. Pressure mounted against the DA. They had the evidence now, and the public was aware of the love plot. The unfaithful spouse and her paramour had been transformed into Romeo and Juliet.


January Second

I can’t do it— can I? Jenny just laughs at my hesitation.

“What’s the matter with you. Your husbands out of town. You go over to his apartment, and no one is the wiser. It’s as simple as that.”

“How will I ever face Bruce again. I don’t care what people say about him. He has always been good to me. What will I say if he finds out.”

“Blame him for leaving you alone so often.”

“He’s really not gone that much, and when we’re together—well, it’s a good marriage. It’s just that Paul makes me feel things I never have before.”

“Like I said, Bruce won’t know, and if he learns just do as I did with my Bob.”

“What did you do?”

“You remember that day we came over here, and he seemed so upset.”

“Yes, I remember at one point he asked if he could lie down in the bedroom, he seemed almost sick.”

“Well, he discovered I had been sleeping with Paul. So, I told him all about it, and that I still loved him. I told him how there was nothing he could do about it that a man like Paul had a way with women. I think he wanted to kill the man, but he would be no match for him physically.”

“You’re lucky he doesn’t own a gun,” I said.

Moreover, I can’t see Bruce taking things the way Bob did. Somehow, I feel Bruce would do something, but Jenny assured me that I was wrong. We discussed how much Bruce loved me and would have to understand just as Bob did.

I had seen Paul a half-dozen times in the past three weeks. We were never alone together, but I would see him here and there. He may have been following me, or he could have been following Bruce. My husband had been home and exceedingly attentive. We made love near every night because I was so horny, but there was no use lying to myself about it. I may have been in bed with my husband, but it was Paul I was thinking of.

Today Paul slipped me a note. It had an address and a date and time. I’m pretty sure it’s his apartment address, and it’s for a day that Bruce will be in New York. I don’t want to go, and yet, I know I will. I tell myself, I will go just to ask him to stop bothering me.


January Fifteenth

Oh, dear god what have I done? I spent the afternoon at Paul’s apartment. It started off ok. I told him how the two of us could never be. How I could not betray my husband, but then he kissed me, and everything left my head but how much I wanted him. He pulled me into his bedroom and began to sensuously undress me. He unbuttoned my blouse and slipped it off my shoulders. Then he ran his hands down my arms. He pulled my hands behind me and kissed me hard. As his tongue pushed into my mouth, he dexterously undid my bra and let it fall to the floor to join my blouse.

Still kissing me, he began to remove my skirt. He sank to his knees and began kissing my mound of Venus through my delicate lace panties. I guess those expensive panties revealed that I was not serious about my resolution not to have sex with him. Then he scooped me up and carried me to his bed. There he removed my last bits of clothing.

He started kissing me all over. His lips burned my flesh. I nearly orgasmed when he began sucking on my breast. The power this man had over me. His tongue licked down my chest and across my belly. When he reached my sex, I moaned. I’m not a talker during sex, but I began begging him to go further, to take me, to fuck me.

He was then still fully dressed, but in the blink of an eye he had shed his clothing, and I saw his magnificent body. His rock-hard abdomen and that magnificent cock. It was standing proud and so erect. So much more than my husband had to offer. I pulled him down to me and guided him into my weeping vagina where he proceeded to fill me as I had never been. It took him barely two strokes to send me over the edge into a glorious orgasm.

He proceeded to fuck me senseless. He had incredible staying power, and he recovered quickly. We made passionate love the entire afternoon and into the early evening. I came a dozen times, and he pumped his seed into me at least four times. I left crying that this could never happen again, but neither of us believed that this would be the end. As I exited his front door, I knew I would be back.


Tanya’s opening to the jury was well above her normal performance which is to say it was good and almost certainly the work of a ghostwriter. Her boss was sitting there with her. D.A. Silva Marks was not about to let a subordinate get all the glory, but neither was she fool enough to consider doing the work herself.

I was representing myself. Judge Bascom who was presiding warned me that an attorney who represented himself had a fool for a client. I told him it was better than having a fool for an attorney. Bascom was going to do everything possible to assure that justice was served by my conviction. He would bend over backward to help the lame prosecution, and in his instructions to the jury turn the concept of reasonable doubt into something more in line with guilty until proven innocent.

For my part, my only concern was that someone would notice that I had an ace up my sleeve and was just waiting my moment to play it. I had truth on my side, but they had the romantic Romeo and Juliet story. The lovers were a police officer and my social worker wife. The villain of the piece was me whether I was innocent or not. Life is not fair, and justice is rarely to be found in a courtroom.

“Sergeant McVey, you opened the trunk of the defendant’s car?” Tanya asked her first witness.

“Yes, I was immediately suspicious of the car. It was an older brown Toyota Camry. This is not the kind of car you expect a high-priced attorney to be driving, but it is very nondescript and has a large trunk capacity.”

“I see,” Tanya said looking toward the jury with a smile that said, “see how devious the defendant is.”

“What, if anything, did you find in the trunk?” Tanya asked.

“It seemed to have been recently cleaned, but we were able to recover hair and fibers that were consistent with both Officer Paul Moreno and Elaine Grey.”

“So, their bodies could have been placed in the trunk?”

“Objection the question calls for speculation,” I said.

“No, the witness is an expert and is merely being asked his opinion. Overruled, the witness may answer,” Judge Bascom said.

And, so, it went. Sergeant McVey happily explained to the jury how in his opinion I had transported and disposed of the bodies of my wife and her lover.

On cross, I asked, “Sergeant, if the bodies were transported in the Camry what happened to the bright blue Ford Mustang Shelby 500 GT.”

“I’m not clear what you are referring to?”

“Paul Moreno’s car. His stud mobile, it’s nowhere to be found.”

“I’m sure I don’t know about that,” McVey replied.

“But, you do know his car is missing, and that car is anything but nondescript,” I said more to the jury then McVey.

“Yes, Paul’s car is missing.”

“Turning back to the Camry. You broke in but tell me why not use the keys in the ignition?”

“We probably didn’t see them.”

“Really, but didn’t you use them to open the trunk earlier?”

McVey looked stunned for a second, but before he could stutter a response, Tanya was on her feet objecting, “the question is argumentative and assumes facts not in evidence.”

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