Chapter 1

My wife knows me so well. She can predict where I will to take her out to dinner, for instance, though I've tried hard to surprise her. She has an instinct for when I need a little tender loving care too. She knows everything about my life... from fumbling flirtations with girls in high school to the angst of being passed over for a promotion I thought I deserved. She knows I'm scared shitless of snakes, whether they're poisonous or not. She knows I can't bear to hear small children cry without wanting to pick them up and wrap my arms around them... and she even knows I'm that way because my father could never unbend enough to hug me. Everything about me, I entrust to my dear wife.

She knows I always go to lunch at 11:30 every day because I had to take a lunch break at that early hour when I was the most junior guy in the office. In those days, I would always be back at 12:30, because other people would want to leave right about that time. I got into the habit and never changed. But, as some philosopher should have noted by now, shit happens.

My wife did not know I was taking a late, extended lunch today. The whole office is going out to a farewell party for one of the senior administrators, specifically the director of the Research and Development Branch, where I work. Bill Thornton was retiring after thirty-six years and the whole operation was being shut down to wish him a happy retirement.

Lyle was one of the youngest engineers working in my division and I was happy to have him under my supervision. He was a hard worker, imaginative, and highly resourceful. When it came time for merit pay increases and bonuses, I was happy to put in his name.

With his first big bonus, Lyle bought one of those mammoth Chevy Suburbans. He had one kid and another on the way, so he wanted a wagon big enough for lots of kids. Apparently, his wife felt the same way. I privately considered his new SUV big enough for a whole clan, much less one family. But he was proud of it and wanted to show it off. With my seniority, I got to ride "shotgun" on the way down to the convention center.

"So, Ron, what do you think of my new buggy?" Lyle asked. That's me. I'm Ron--also known as Ronald Masters. Twenty-nine years old, in pretty good health and well thought of within my field of expertise--mechanical engineering--though lately my job has had little to do with that degree. I hadn't been a manager for very long but it was taking up more and more of my time. I was even thinking of taking some night courses in personnel and resource management to keep up with the responsibilities the boss kept pushing my way.

"It's cool," I replied, interjecting some enthusiasm into my voice. "Or is that supposed to be "hot" or "tight" these days? I can never remember what the latest slang is," I told him. He laughed.

"You like it?"

"Oh, heck yeah," I said. I twisted around to peer into the interior of the spacious vehicle.

"Shoot, Lyle," I remarked, "I think the first apartment Sherrie and I lived in was smaller than this." He laughed, pleased with my comment. I turned back around to face the front.

As Lyle braked to a stop at a red light, I saw once again how high off the road I was sitting. Lyle's "truck," as he called it, gave the driver and passengers an excellent view all around and even over most of the cars on the road. I glanced down out the passenger side window when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I was surprised to see my wife sitting in her two-year-old Taurus beside us at the light. This wasn't a part of town that Sherrie would normally go. It was a long way from her office and she rarely had to leave during the day.

I was looking at the controls on the door's panel, trying to figure out which one lowered the window but it was taking too long. I started to open the door and tap on my wife's car window when I saw another movement. As I watched, a man's hand was thrust up her skirt so far his wrist and some of his forearm disappeared.

I froze. My gut knotted up so badly and so quickly, I was abruptly deep in pain. I felt the blood drain from my face. My fingers trembled where they rested on the door handle. I felt disoriented... I couldn't think, I couldn't move. All I could do was watch.

I waited for Sherrie to shove the man's hand away. Surely, this was nothing she would put up with from any man but me. I found it hard to breathe as I watched my wife spread her legs wider, accepting the intruding fingers into her pussy. The guy she was with, whoever he was, had to have two or three fingers inside her. There simply wasn't anyway that length of male arm could disappear under her short skirt without his fingers being in a place I thought only I had access to.

"Please... no," I whispered, but no one heard.

I've only passed out one time, after being struck on the head by a baseball when I was twelve years old. I was feeling the same sensations I'd felt that day right now. My vision began to contract into a narrow tunnel and a huge weight was crushing my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I'm a strong man, but the shock siphoned all my strength away. I was nothing but an empty shell. If I'd been lying across a set of railroad tracks and had only to roll to the side to avoid being run over by a train, I couldn't have done it.

My eyes filled with unshed tears as I watched my wife of four years lean back to better enjoy this unknown man's ministrations. She never objected, never tried to get the man to stop. It came to me that this was a thing she'd enjoyed before with this man, a thing she wanted and was used to receiving. Sherrie tilted her head back; her eyes closed as she lost herself in the pleasure his fingers were giving her. The look of lust and need for gratification shocked me. It was the same one she showed me when we had sex.