Chapter 1: Ben

It was early on a Friday afternoon and I was driving home to have a long talk with my wife Catherine. I was extremely nervous and anxious to continue our previous talk concerning that latest proof that I had already disclosed to her about her cheating. It was three days now since I had placed the proof of her infidelity in front of her. Every time that I tried to discuss the matter with her, she would either go into a fit of crying proclaiming her innocence or she would just run to her room and lock the door behind her.

For the last three days I hadn't accomplish much work in my office. Most of my time having been spent thinking about the events of the last few days and also those of the last six months while pretending to work. Then, this morning, I came to the conclusion that as soon as I was going to arrive home from work that day, I was going to insist that she admit her infidelity toward me. Then I was going to divorce her.

The closer I got to our house, the angrier I became. Six months ago, I had confronted her with a similar incident — though not as evident — and I demanded that she explains herself to me. It had ended in a terrible argument, which had almost ended our marriage. Now I had an even more solid proof that she had been cheating on me. I knew that there was absolutely no way for her to explain everything without admitting that she was having an extra marital affair.

As soon as I parked my car into our driveway, I knew that something was wrong. For one thing both garage doors were opened and her car was gone. When I got out of my car, I discover that the door leading to the house from inside the garage, was wide opened.

Entering the house I got another surprise. In the kitchen I saw a disorder that I had never seen before. Empty boxes were everywhere on the floor and on the table. A half-empty roll of duct tape was lying on the floor next to the table and near it was near a pair of scissors. On a chair was a pile of clothing while the kitchen counter was covered with pots and pans. But what intrigued me the most was the fact that the pots and other items weren't dirty. Everything was clean and dry. It occurred to me that much of the content of the cupboards had simply been taken out and most of it left on the countertop.

All of a sudden it hit me like a brick at the back of the head, Catherine had left me. Yes that was the only explanation. She had packed those things that she wanted to take with her and left in a hurry. Suddenly my thoughts went to my daughter Chantal.

I climbed the staircase in a hurry and ran to my daughter's room. Once again, even though I was half expecting it, I was shocked to see all the drawers open and empty. She had taken our daughter with her and I had no idea where she had gone.

Catherine parents were both dead, her only sibling, an older brother, was living at the other end of the country. Where could she have gone? Why exactly did she run away from me with our daughter? Well, I had planned to divorce her of course, but I wanted my daughter back and my wife had no way to know what I was planning to do.

Of course we had a big problem, I had practically accused her of cheating on me. I had been willing to talk to her about the whole thing — but certainly not forgive her — and even let her explain herself to me. But she had refused to admit what she had done, instead she kept on denying everything.

When I looked into our bedroom I wasn't too surprised to see the degree of disorder there also. All the drawers of her bureau were opened and empty, even the door to her walk-in was wide opened. All her things were gone. No dresses, no slacks, no shoes, she had taken everything with her. It was as if she had never been living with me in our house for the past seven years.

Tears were now freely flowing down my cheeks as I slowly went down to the living room. After pouring myself a large drink, I went to sit in my favorite chair so as to think. Then my eyes came to rest on the picture of my wife and daughter on top of the shelf over the TV screen. The picture had been taken the previous summer; it was on the day that my daughter turned five.

Catherine was wearing a light green, knees-length skirt with a white blouse on that day, she had just turned twenty-eight the previous week. Her shoulder length, auburn hair, matched perfectly with the green of her skirt. Even the green ribbon that she had around her head and under her hair at the back, matched with her fair complexion and the rich color of her hair.

Anyone could tell by looking at that picture that she was an extremely beautiful woman, but of course I was the only one — at least I thought so until recently — that was familiar with her voluptuous and exiting body.

One of the things that I loved about her was her ... never self-conscious, usually careless attitude about her attractiveness. She had a straight forward approach to people. She was slow to realize the sexual heat she generated ... that men couldn't help loving the opportunities to study the lovely shape of her breasts moving under her thin blouses or observing her revealed nipples as she bends over in her busy activities as a housewife/hostess.

Her skin white as fresh milk, her hair dark red or auburn depending on the angle of the light falling on them. Her teeth so straight and perfectly white made her smile so friendly and engaging. Her eyes, oh yes her eyes ... they are the color of the green of the forest and so warm when she focused them on you. Her long legs, slim, very shapely rising to voluptuous hips and an ass that cupped enticingly, and pussy lips that gathered around the seam of her jeans or shorts.

In my younger days I had been the jealous type of boyfriend; those days were long gone (so I believed) with the passage of those years of solid marriage

We had been married for seven years now and our love life had always been very active. For the last six months, after we finally got over that terrible argument after an incident where facts were never explained to my complete satisfaction, we had been making love almost every day.

I loved my wife and I am still very much in love with her. But now the two persons that were the most important in my life (my daughter and my wife) were gone and I had no idea where they were.

My daughter Chantal is almost six and she was supposed to soon be starting school where my wife is working as a replacement teacher. She means everything to me and she was the main reason that I didn't push things further with my wife when I confronted her with the second anonymous letter that I received six months ago.

As for my wife Catherine, well I love her as much as it is humanly possible to love a woman. We were married as soon as I graduated from university. I was twenty-two at that time and she was twenty. She had been teaching for the first year of our marriage only to stop the last two months of her pregnancy with Chantal.

My wife is an outstanding woman, both in appearance and in character. I have never seen a woman with hair like hers. Her dark, silky auburn hair fall like a curtain on her shoulders and when she turns her head too fast it will swing in a most spectacular manner as their momentum will carry them around her head.

When she looks at you with her large emerald-color eyes, you get the impression that she is looking into your very soul. Over the years I realized that I would never be able to lie to her because of those eyes that seem to read your most private thoughts.

Then her delicate aquiline nose, which its tip and lightly covered with freckles, gives her the appearance of being much younger than she really is. But the feature that I like the most about her face is her plump sensual lips that tempt me to kiss her all the time. As for the rest of her body ... well it is just about perfect. She is tall with long straight legs ending in a round buttock that wiggle spectacularly when she walks. As for her breasts, they are high, firm and more than enough for me.

But mind you, she has the character that matched the color of her hair. She is much too quick to react sometimes and she definitely can hold a grudge for a long time when provoked. She probably has Irish blood in her.

This is the main reason that I didn't push things too much the last time I confronted her about that letter that almost wreck our marriage. After all, I wasn't completely convinced at the time and she did deny everything. But now, with this third letter, the proof that I had against her was rock solid, at least I though so.

Without really realizing it, I began to recall the series of events that led to the mess that I was in now.

It had all began about seven months previously. I remembered that day well since it was the day that I received at work the first in a series of three letters. It was on the day that my company signed the big Baxter contract.

I am the owner of a profitable business which import art and sells it back in this country. I have twelve employees working for me and my business is very healthy and profitable.

Catherine had quitted her full time teaching job when our daughter was born and even though she was often talking about getting back to teaching again, she hadn't done so yet. But she sometimes still worked as a replacement teacher since she wanted to keep in touch with her profession. On those rare days that she replaced sick teachers, her friend Lucie, — who had recently separated from her husband and was now living with another man — would come to our house to stay with our daughter.

Yes, I could still recall the tragedy of that sad day as I sat in my office. I was checking my afternoon mail that had just been placed on top of my desk. When I opened the small while envelope with no return address, I got the surprise of my life. Inside was a rectangular card on which a single sentence was printed.

"I love that star shaped mole that your wife Catherine has under her left nipple."

The first time that I read that message, two words got most of my attention, 'Catherine' and 'nipple'. For long seconds I remained frozen, the full impact of the single sentence didn't register immediately. Finally I read it again and gradually the implication behind the words sank into my mind.

Whoever had written this message knew about the mole under the left nipple of my wife. That person even knew that the mole was in the shape of a star. Until then I was sure that I was the only one that had been allowed to look at it. It goes to say that I was flabbergasted.

I wasn't able to do any work after that. I told Josianne my secretary, that she was not to disturb me unless it was something very important, then I just sat there trying to get over the shock and thinking about what I should do next.

Who the hell could have send me that letter I told to myself? Catherine and I had married a month after her graduation, we then moved to the East Coast soon afterward. Since then I knew that she had never met any of her old friends, none of them even knew where we were living now.

Try as hard as I could, there was no way to explain how anyone could know about that mole that she had under her nipple. I trusted her completely and I knew that she would never cheated on me, beside she was always home with Chantal our daughter and never went out by herself. We even went shopping together every week.

At first it had been my intention to show her the letter, but I soon realized that it would only create friction between us. After all she probably couldn't explain the note more than I could. So even though I was very disturbed about that message and what it implied, I figured that it would be better if I simply forgot the whole thing and at the same time kept my eyes opened in the future.

It took me several days to finally forget the letter and things slowly went back to normal after a week or so. Catherine and I were still having sex four or five times per week and we were a very happy family.

I must mention here that sex with Catherine was special. We hugged and kissed for a long time before penetration and when we were finally ready to copulate, our love making went on for a long time. Catherine sometimes gave me oral sex before we made love, but she never swallowed and she would go down on me only after I went down on her. As for her rear hole, it was the only part of her body that was out of bound to me.

About two months after I received the 'mole letter', it was a Friday afternoon and once again and I was busy opening my mail for that day when I noticed a large manila envelope in the pile. The address was hand written in block letters and I couldn't see any return address anywhere on the envelope. It didn't seem to be heavy enough for its large side but I could tell, judging by its thickness, that there was something beside sheets of paper inside.

For a few seconds I had a flash recall of the 'mole letter' that I had received previously. My hands became damp suddenly and they were trembling as I manipulated the envelope trying to discover indices of its origin.

At last I carefully cut open one end and looked inside. It contained a standard size sheet of paper and a black cloth which at first, I couldn't immediately identify. But as soon as I pulled the black piece of cloths out of the envelope and dropped it on my desk, I knew that the envelope came from the same bastard that had sent me the 'mole letter'.