Many thanks to Dennis for his editing of this story.
Powerful computers with desktop programs have made it is easy for every organization or group of people with a common interest in this Scandinavian country to have some kind of printed matter for their members and supporters.
Of course, the quality may differ from simple single A4 sheets to high quality magazines depending of the skills and the economy of the publisher.
It happened now and then at my job at the city hall that such publications appeared in my mail, usually followed by a phone call by somebody who wanted to sell an ad to their next issue.
I wasn't surprised when I one day got a white envelope with handwritten name and address. In the envelope was a magazine by name "OBSERVER" printed with a very professional layout on high quality paper. Though I had never heard about neither the magazine nor the organization, it was obvious for me that the OBSERVER was made by very skilled people.
Then I found the small note included, written with same handwriting as on the envelope. It read, "Page 16 ought to be of great interest for you."
That was all. I had much more important work related mail to take care about, why the OBSERVER was laid at side until after lunch when there were no further important matters waiting to be immediately taken care of.
Page 16 began with a color picture from a well-known four-star conference hotel and a headline saying "WASTE OF MONEY" and thereafter with slight smaller text saying "Teachers Union's Sodom Gomorra conference."
Now my interest was piqued because my handsome wife Christine was a teacher and had been to that annual conference as usual for many years.
The author described the whole conference as a waste of time and money. He or she had found out (no real name mentioned) that most of the lectures were pure mumbo jumbo and on the second day they were held for an almost sleeping audience, tired of hard partying during the previous night.
It was obvious that the author had chosen Christine as a typical conference slut because in one of the pictures from the dance floor I could see Christine and a guy with bald shaved head dancing very close with his hand under her short skirt, caressing her bottom.
In one of the other pictures, Christine and the baldhead were sitting in a booth hugging and the text under the picture saying, "Long time friends meet again."
I guessed that the only reason why they were mentioned as "friends" was that the word "lovers" could mean some problems for the publisher.
The anon author continued by saying that some of the participants had been couples during many earlier conferences while others preferred to take part in the hunting for the Alpha-male or Belle de conference. It was described as an amusing show until the winners could bring the trophy back to their rooms for private pleasures.
Of course, there were even a lot of gossips and crap talk when the booze loosened the mouths. The rumors accused a pretty and usually prudish married woman to be real conference slut who had gone too far when she had let her long-time lover be the father of her now one year old baby. The gossip even said that her lover was allowed all kind of kinky pleasures she never would do at home with her husband.
Much gossip was told about divorces caused by cheating at these conferences. Some conference lovers had made serious attempts to live together after their divorces but few of those relations had lasted more than a limited time. The author's comment was that a relation must be built on stronger base than sex during a couple of party nights.
Then the author used lot of space for finding out how much the union had paid for that meaningless event and how many children in a poor country could be in school for one year if an equal amount was sent there. The union made no comments.
I was sweating and my hands were shaking after reading that article. It was no doubt that my wife Christine who was prudish wife at home had been a cheating slut both at that damn conference and obviously even at several earlier conferences.
A hand under her skirt could be some kind of co-incident and she wasn't the only one who allowed strange hands in unsuitable places during a spouse free party night but to see her mentioned as the baldhead's "Long time friend" felt like a hard hit in my belly. Even the gossip about kinky sex only with her lover fit perfect on Christine because she used to accuse me to be a damn pervert the few times I had suggested her to suck me extra hard.
The next hit, which got me down for counting to nine was that our baby daughter was almost one year old. If her lover was the father of our baby that must be the ultimate humiliation for me as Christine's faithful husband and no way I would take it. Not a single day more than absolutely necessary will be spent in my now ice cold marriage.
Now it was even clear for me why she never had her cell phone switched on during her stays at those conference hotels and why she never took any calls at her room phone. Of course I had asked several questions about that but she always explained that some of the boozed men used to ring females with nasty suggestions about sex and she wanted to avoid that.
The web is a great tool. Only two hours later I found a private DNA lab, phoned and ordered a test kit to my job address and got the kit the next day.
I decided that it was the first day in my new life and whatever the DNA test would show Christine's and my relation would never be as it has been until now. My next step was a phone call to the OBSERVER where a young woman gladly sold me ten issues of their magazine.
One of my first problems was not having any name for Christine's 'longtime friend and/or lover' and no idea where to begin searching for him.
My next action was to persuade the golfer gang at my job to invite me to join their golf trip on Sunday, which would create a very chilly relation between Christine and me. Her parents and she would never accept golf as valid reason to skip their monthly Sunday family dinner held that day.
I fixed the DNA tests while Christine was shopping at Saturday. Because my interest for the Saturday evening sex with my wife was down to zero I told her about my golf trip during the afternoon and got the expected result. Christine got furious as a wasp and screamed at me, "How dare you to do that? What shall I say to my parents?"
I shouted back, "You can tell that nagging bitch and her poor wimp husband that I'm fed up with listening to their whining."
Christine continued screaming, "Be sure that you will regret what you are doing."
"Yes indeed, I really regret that I didn't take this step a long time ago."
From now on I was living in a very chilly marriage.
The magazines came by the mail on Tuesday and the DNA test on Thursday. It was as bad as I had feared: The son was mine but the baby daughter wasn't. It was the most painful day in my whole life.
Now I printed small yellow labels to some of the OBSERVER front pages that read, "The name of the cheating married teacher with her lover's child is Christine Bladh-Adamson."
I mailed those magazines to Christine's parents, her sister, her headmaster, her union secretary, to the local newspaper and to the library.
Back home after work Christine stared at me and she must seen that I was in a very bad shape but since she was still mad at me for the last Sunday and she didn't say anything.
On the Friday I took a few hours off and went to court for divorce papers and to the bank to open a new account with 50% of our savings.
At Friday evening Christine asked me if I regretted my behavior last Sunday and if I wanted our relation back to normal again. My reply hit her by real surprise when I said, "You and I will never go back to any old behaviors again. They end here and now. That's for ever."
She shouted, "What do you mean?"
I gave her a labeled copy of the OBSERVER and said, "Please read this and you will understand what I mean."
She got ashen gray while looking at the pictures and replied with a low voice, "It is not what it looks alike, such magazines want to create scandals of nothing. They really can make a hen of a feather."
I asked her, "Did you fuck with that baldhead in that picture? Did you fuck him both there and at several previous conferences?"
"No, of course not."
"Is that really the truth that you have never fucked that baldhead?"
"Of course it is the truth, what do you think about me?"
"If you didn't fuck the baldhead, there must be some other lover, who is he?"
Now she got angry again and shouted, "Why in the hell do you think I'll have a lover?"
I gave her copies of the DNA test and said, "Because one of your lovers is the father of your daughter. You can see that I'm not the father that is the worst humiliation a married man can get. The only possible option left for us in this damn mess is a divorce and that your lover has to pay for his child.
I gave her the divorce papers and told her that I felt so sick that I could hardly breathe and I had to go out for fresh air. Christine began to cry and sobbed, "Please forgive me, please forgive me. Please forgive me. I love you, only you."
My parents already knew about my problem and I spent the night at their place and stayed there until noon at Saturday. Christine had left a note on the kitchen table that she and the children would stay at her parents until Sunday evening.
Back home after talking with her parents and sister, Christine had accepted the situation and as the future would be a big step for both of us we began a serious talk about how to take care of many practical matters. At last she even confessed that it was the baldhead, Harry Briggman, who was her longtime lover and the father of her daughter. Christine said that they had been romantic for three years, but she had never stopped loving me ... I told her to skip all such crap talk after the ultimate humiliation she had caused me by her attempt to have me to raise her lover's child.
By Monday noon I had found out where Briggman's wife worked and had a serious phone call with her. She wasn't happy to hear the news about her husband's new baby daughter. I sent her one of the OBSERVER magazines and one to the head master at the school where Briggman worked as teacher.
A further investigation of Harry Briggman showed that he could hardly be the "dream prince" for Christine she probably expected him to be. He had five children, two with his first wife, two with his present wife and now even the baby with Christine. His economic situation was in a real mess with the enforcement officer collecting half of his monthly salary.
One thing was for sure; Mr. Briggman could hardly be trusted to rent any apartment if his wife decided to throw him out from their present home, a house that was her private property.