It was time for me to move on. My SUV was parked in long term parking at the airport. I figured that should give me about two weeks before someone notices the car had been there too long. I walked toward the Delta terminal carrying only my brief case and a travel case. I had all my ids in the brief case, a few thousand dollars in assorted bills, and my travel documents. Everything would appear perfectly normal unless you actually knew me. You see all the documentation was in a different name, but where pictures were needed, they were my face. My driver's license and passport included. I was starting out on my new life with a new identity.

I entered the terminal and started the process of going through the screening to board my flight. The TSA is a very efficient operation. They check my ticket; x-rayed my brief case, my wallet and my car keys. There are no bombs, water bottles, or other prohibited items in my case or on my person. They rightly guessed I wasn't a terrorist and passed me through.

My next stop is the Men's Room where I enter a stall and start removing my outer clothing. Underneath them, I have another set of clothes. I go from being a dressed business man to a tourist returning from vacation. I have a gaudy shirt, shorts, and summery shoes on now. I exit the men's room and merge with the passengers from a flight returning from Las Vegas. I look like just another tourist returning from Fun City. I follow the crowd to the baggage claim. I walk over to a small non-descript wheeled suitcase sitting by its self on the conveyer. Since there is no one paying any attention to this case, I snatch it and walk out the exit doors. I walk over to the inter-terminal transport and climb aboard. Ten minutes later I exit the tram at another terminal. I stop at the Men's Room, remove another layer and deposit it in the stolen suitcase.

I approach the ticket counter, check my stolen bag, use one of my new ids and pick up my boarding pass. Instead of tackling the TSA check point, I head to the area where all the shops are. I get lost in the crowds and slowly make my way to the exits. I am soon back on the tram and headed toward Continental's Terminal. This time I am actually going to board a plane and leave the airport.

Soon I am on one of their overseas flights. I have successfully changed myself into another person. My new life starts now.

My wife, the cheating bitch, will never find me or any of my money.

I think I'd better tell you what precipitated this exercise in identity change. I'll start by telling you about myself. I was born in Western New Your State in 1960. I graduated from High School in about the middle of my class. I wasn't very impressive in my scholastic abilities or my physical shape. I guess you could say I was just a normal kid. My parents were not wealthy professionals. My Mom was a stay at home Mom, and my Dad was a construction worker. I attended a local college and lived at home. I worked part time at a fast food establishment during the school term, and in construction with my Dad over summer breaks.

My college grades were nothing great. I just managed to carry a 2.6 for all four years. Between all the hours I worked, I didn't really apply myself to my schooling. I did just enough to get by. I graduated with my business degree and went out into the world to make my mark. Well was I surprised when none of the "big guys" wanted to hire me. I guess my average grades from an average college in a simple business curriculum didn't actual stand out amongst all the super star graduates. So I spent my time looking for work instead of a lofty position.

I finally found a job with a small Property Management outfit. I wasn't given a private office with a secretary. I was given a desk, a phone, and a lot of responsibilities for little starting money. My college dreams of a white shirt, a dark suit, and 9 to 5 hours were dashed.

I soon learned that in a small business, everyone was a jack-of-all-trades. I harassed tenants for overdue rent, I helped with evictions, I interviewed prospective tenants. I even helped the maintenance staff clean and paint for new tenants. I didn't make a lot of money, but I learned the real-estate business by doing everything.

And in the process of learning, I fell in love. Not with a beautiful woman, but with the real-estate business.

My boss, the owner, noticed my burgeoning love for the business and guided me along. He had a couple of adult children but none of them wanted to follow in his footsteps. I guess I became the child that he had always wanted. Someone he could pass his knowledge to.

One day he called me into his office.

"Billy, take a look at these bank foreclosures and tell me what you think might make a good investment for us, "he said.

"I've never done this sort of thing before," I alibied.

"Don't worry, I'll check out your recommendations before taking the plunge. Oh, I'd like your results right after lunch."

Lunch at his company was 12:00; it was now almost 10:00! "Shit he didn't give me much time, "I thought.

I skipped lunch and spent the next three hours reading the listings. I found a few that I thought he might like.

Promptly at 1:00 I walked into his office and presented my recommendations.

He listened to me for almost an hour before he interrupted, "So far everything you picked is shit," was his only comment.

"Come over here and I'll show you how it's done." He added.

We spent the rest of the week going over the choices. When we were done we had selected a few properties that had a lot of potential. I learned a lot that week. I also learned my humble boss was a real-estate genius.

He bid on four of our selections and won only one bid. It was a four family apartment building built in the early 1910's. It was in a neighbor that was on the edge of an upscale area populated by young marrieds and college students. The building needed a lot of work, but we bought it really cheap, and the bank agreed to provide all the construction loans and postpone the mortgage payments for six months. What it all ended up meaning was that we bought the building for almost nothing down and had all the money we needed to fix'er up.

At closing he handed me the keys and said, "It's your project. Get started tomorrow."

For the next six months I felt a greater range of emotions than a person should. I went from highs to lows and then back again. In between I learned more about the rental business. By the time the first mortgage payment was due, I had all the apartments rented and was starting to cruise along.

Soon after my boss surprised me again. "Bill sign these papers on that four family we bought."

"Of course, but why?" I asked.

"Because I'm transferring ownership over to you, it's your building now."

"What!" I exclaimed.

"Bill, I'm getting old and I'd like to pass my knowledge on to someone. I hope you'll let me pass it to you. My children will probably sell off all the property I own when I die as is their birth right. So we'll start you on to your own real-estate business. Please except my little gift to you."

So that how I started. I soon became Billco Properties, LLC.

My friend and mentor died about five years later. True to his prediction, his children sold everything off. They wanted top dollar for everything and found a buyer who was willing to pay the price.

By that time I had 15 properties of my own. They were all in good areas and all fully rented. My financial blueprint was factored on 50% rentals. By that I mean if half a building is rented it pays all the costs for that building. Most of my buildings ran 100% occupancy. I wasn't rich, but I wasn't in trouble either.

I was doing ok.

I picked up a few commercial properties when the guy that bought my late boss's business went bankrupt. He thought that hiring a lot of help and then spending all his time on the golf course was all that was needed.

To my advantage, I guess he was wrong.

I was 30 years old when I met the woman who was eventually to be my wife. I had purchased a piece of commercial property in a fairly good neighborhood. She and a girl friend rented one of the office suites to start a decorating business.

When they met me, I was dressed as I usually did, as just one of the other workers. They were both dressed to the nines, right out of a fashion magazine. I guess that as interior decorators, they needed to make an impression.

Well they did make one on me.

Wendy was the more aggressive partner she captured my heart. In my little mind I saw her standing in front of a vine covered cottage with two small children awaiting her husband to return from work. I pictured myself as that husband.

When I quoted the rent to them, I could tell by their faces that they couldn't afford the place. "Since this is a fairly empty building (I lied, there was only one other vacancy) I can let you have an introductory rent for the first year," I offered.

"How much lower?" they asked in unison.

"About half, if that's not too much. The owner gives me a bit of flexibility on setting introductory rates."

They jumped on my generosity and signed a one year lease with an option on another year, rent to be determined later.

"Can we have the owner's name and address so that we can thank him?" Wendy asked.

I gave them my mother's maiden name with a phony first name and the company's PO Box. I explained that the owner did not like people bothering him, so sending a short note would be sufficient.

For the next year I helped them with all their problems dressed as just another worker. I watched their little business slowly take off. By the start of their second year, they renewed their lease at a higher rate. The rate still being about 25% lower than every other tenant was paying. As I said earlier, they were really beautiful.

Wendy (that's the one I liked) informed me one day that her partner was getting married and would be moving to the West Coast with her new husband before their lease was up. She asked, "Can I get out of our lease? I don't think I can afford it with my partner leaving."

"I don't know about breaking your lease, but I can still reduce the rent back to its former level. My boss doesn't like empty office suites." (The truth being that I didn't want to see her leave.) Her face lit up in a great big smile and I got a kiss. The kiss sealed it for me, I was in love. After we separated, she gave me a different kind of look and a special smile. That was the start of our relationship. One year later, I found myself standing at the altar taking my vows. By the time we were married one year our daughter was born.

Wendy had a hard time with the pregnancy and the delivery. Her doctor recommended no more children for her. She had her tubes tied. Our sex live was still as good as it had always been, but her desires to have sex diminished. Mine didn't. I found myself going to bed with an erection and still having the same erection a week later. Like I said Wendy's sex drive diminished.

Wendy put her efforts into her business from then on. She never realized that I was a lot more than a simple flunky for some rich landlord. She started treating me with little respect; she began seeing herself as the main bread winner in the household.

I tried to tell her that I really owned a bunch of property, but she never gave me a chance. Every time I started to tell her I got, "I don't want to hear about your work. It's boring."

I accepted her opinion of my worth to keep my family. She was still beautiful and I was just average. By accepting her put downs, I was able to keep my beautiful wife and daughter.

My daughter soon became the love of my life. If I wasn't working on a real-estate deal, I was spending every available minute with my daughter. Watching that little girl grow was my only reason for staying alive. Wendy and I just drifted further apartment. She was seduced away from me by her rich and powerful customers.

But I kept buying property. Some pieces I kept for the long haul and others I quickly resold making a tidy profit. I was slowly amassing a fortune that she knew nothing about.

Wendy became more and more contemptuous of me and more distant. Soon I was delegated to sleeping in the spare bedroom. The reasons for my banishment were listed as "Snoring too much, Tossing and turning and keeping her awake, and of course, "smelling like a petty worker."

At first I was allowed to visit "her" bed weekly, but eventually it dropped off until I was lucky if it was once a month. The only reason I put up with this was my daughter. If I confronted Wendy and she divorced me, everyone knows that the mother gets the kid and the husband gets the bills. I loved my daughter way too much to accept being cut out of her life by a selfish wife.

I channeled my frustration and loneliness into my real-estate business. I ran my company like a secret mission with a great passion. I had interlocking corporations, multiple PO Boxes, different office fronts, and most of my employees worked out of different buildings. In my "Main" office there were only two people, my trusty bookkeeper and me. Everyone but my bookkeeper just thought I was another worker there. I never corrected their misconceptions.

By the time my daughter, Amy, was 15, I owned about $25,000,000 in property that was mortgage free, and another $50,000,000 with some form of mortgage debt. They were in various corporate names at various addresses for those corporations. All the rents went into different PO Boxes. Some of the rent disappeared into off-shore numbered accounts to avoid taxes on it.

I was starting to be worth some serious money by now. I owned almost 100 properties. No longer were they the simple three and four family apartment buildings I started with. They were large apartment complexes, strip malls, commercial office space in 10 to 20 story buildings, and one large shopping mall.

Amy and I formed a bond over the years. I was the parent who was there for her. If she had a sport, I was in the stands cheering, if she was sick, I sat by her bedside and held her hand. She and I spent hours at the mall together buying all those things a mother and daughter usually did. Except Amy's mother was too busy with her wonderful life and it was up to me to fill in with our daughter.

Wendy was doing well in her business by then also. Since I never bragged or changed my life style, she still considered herself as the real money maker in the family. I never corrected her because by now, I didn't want her thinking I might have money and divorce me. My wife looked at me as if I was nothing more than a failure leaching off her success. She no longer hid her contempt for me. To be a second class citizen in our home, I'd need a promotion.

While I accepted her attitude toward me, I also started hiding more of my wealth off shore. When Wendy decided to upgrade, I didn't want to be left penniless.

Wendy's business as a decorator required that she hire very artistic people. I guess I was a bit homophobic because these guys bothered me. Wendy noticed that I was bothered by them and tried to make my life miserable every time I was in her office, she went out of her way to make the "gayer" ones my helpers. The "boys" had a hard time keeping their hands to themselves. Wendy just enjoyed the shit out of these times.

I didn't. This was just another way for Wendy to show her contempt for me. But I accepted her treatment. In order to stay in my marriage and with my daughter, I turned into a wimp.

Wendy's Story My husband Bill was a nice enough guy, but he had no ambition. I was a go getter, always trying to improve our lot in life. Bill was just holding me back. Ok, he was an average lover and the father of only child. He treated our daughter as if she was a princess. He was always there for her.

But he did nothing for me. I wonder what I saw in him. He was just average. He was content in a dead end job working for a reclusive real-estate giant as a gofer.

He was always a nice guy when I was starting my business with my friend Millie. He was like the landlord's gofer. I was able to wrap him around my little finger and get all sorts of concessions on the rent as well as a lot of extras.

During our second year of business Millie and I decided that we were not meant to be partners. I was the aggressive one. If the client was male, I flirted and let him think there might be a chance to get in my panties if he gave his business. If the client was female and bi curious, well I satisfied her curiosity for her business. Millie was not me. She had morals.

I liked fooling around.

Millie and I parted before our second year in business was completed. She moved along with her boyfriend to the West Coast. I was being so rotten to her that she just left, leaving me the business and all assets. I gave her nothing in return.

I was a little concerned if I could afford the full rent on my fancy office suite without Millie's help. So I turned my feminine charms toward Bill. I got the lowered rent for another year. I kissed him for the first time as a thank you and a tease. But after the kiss, I discovered I liked kissing him. I'm not sure the reason but my panties became damp from that kiss. Maybe it was because I had not had a good session with either male or female lovers in over a month. I guess I was a little needy.

For all Bill's down sides, he was a pretty good lover. Bill was very considerate. Like the old saying "Ladies First" was his always his goal. He made sure I was always satisfied before he let himself finish. I was used to inconsiderate male lovers. Men who cared only for their own pleasure leaving me unfulfilled most of the times. My female lovers very rarely satisfied me. I wasn't into woman except to win their business. I always made sure they were satisfied, ignoring my own satisfaction, but that was business.

But Bill was just so boring outside of the bedroom. He didn't keep up to speed on current events, or popular authors, artists or other famous people. If anyone tried to carry on a conversation with him at a party, they soon gave up. All Bill could discuss was real-estate and bookkeeping. And those were two subjects that bored most of my friends to death.

I tried taking him to the opera, Philharmonic concerts, and current plays. All that happened was I fought to keep him awake because if he snored, I wouldn't be embarrassed.

Because I was in the decorating business, I was required to attend various charity functions to promote myself and be seen. When I brought Bill to these functions he usually just sat at our table and contributed nothing to the evening. He didn't even dress that nicely. He was more of a liability than an asset there. I guess I should have work on his image, but I was just too busy expanding my business.

One day I received an invitation to a charity event. This time I did not tell Bill, until it was too late for him to change his previously made plans.

"Bill, I'm going to the event even if you can't attend. It's important to my business and you know that I am responsible for our standard of living." I argued.

"But Wendy, won't it look bad if you attend alone?" Bill asked.

"I'll bring one of my decorators with me. He'll be just visibility gay enough that no one will mistake him for a lover."

It was at this event I met James, the man who was to become my lover. I was standing at one of the bars looking for my date. I suspected that he had snuck off with one of the other gay guys at the party, leaving me to fend for myself, when this handsome man struck up a conversation with me.

"Excuse me, but I couldn't help but notice that your escort has deserted you," James said. "My name is James William Hawthorn and I'd like the pleasure of your company this evening, if you'll allow me."

The first thing that went through my mind was, "God he's gorgeous." He was well dressed, well spoken, and appeared wealthy. I accepted his offer for the evening. We had a ball together.

In the taxi on the way back home, I noticed that I had become a little damp between my legs. I knew it wasn't Bill that brought this feeling around this time, but James. I began to wonder how James would feel between my legs. "Would he be man enough to "get the job" done?" My husband Bill loved me and would worship at the center of my womanhood until I was screaming in pleasure. But the rest of the time Bill was just plain boring.

About one week later, I got a phone call from James, "Hi Wendy. Would you like to join me for lunch? I have an office that I was thinking of redoing and would like your opinion."

That's how it all started. Within one month we were lovers. We started meeting two or three afternoons a week in various hotels. He was my lover. Now I'm not saying that he was better than Bill, Bill always thought of my pleasure first. James never did. James treated me like a slut, Bill like a queen.

It was exciting being with James even if he just used me as a sex object. He made me do things that Bill never would have thought of. There were days that I hurt from all the things James made me do. I loved the degradation, the being treated as a slut, a simple whore. I was a submissive female and he was a dominate male. I was born to give him whatever pleasure her wanted. To James, I could never refuse him anything.

I grew bored with Bill's gentle loving. I wanted James' mastery. I was all his. He even started bring other men to our bed. He shared me with his friends. With the extra men in our bed, my orgasms were greater that I had ever experienced. I never wanted this to stop. So I decided that I wanted an apartment of my own. This would be where James and I could start spending all our free time together.

So I made a plan and put it in action.

"Bill, "I began, "I'm going to rent an apartment in the city. I am spending too much of my time commuting between my office and this ugly farm. It's almost an hour one way and I could better be off putting that extra time toward my work. I know you love this farm, but I need to be closer to the city. You and Amy can stay here. There is no need for your lives to be disrupted."

"But Wendy," he began.

I cut him off, "This is not open to discussion. I have my mind made up. I have already picked out one of two choices and I'll be moved in by the end of the month."

I then saw the hurt look in Bill's eyes. "Don't worry honey; I'll still be home weekends for you and Amy."

I went about my plans. James helped me pick out a very upscale apartment just minutes from my office. To make Bill feel a part of this, I showed him the apartment and asked him if he approved of my choice. Before he could respond, I said, "I knew you'd just love it too. I'll use it to highlight my decorating ability."

When we left the building I noticed that the building manager knew Bill. I just assumed that they had met at some real-estate function Bill was always attending.

On the day Wendy got an apartment in town so that she didn't have the long drive back to our house in the country every day or so she said. I knew my marriage was over now.

I had suspected that she'd taken a lover, but until now I just wasn't sure. Now I was sure. Wendy never knew that I owned that apartment building. It was one of my more upscale units. My manager saw me and wanted to talk but I pretended we were only acquaintances, not employer/employee. He later talked to me about my wife and her lover.

My heart broke. I guess I still loved Wendy, but I didn't know how I was going to survive this transgression by her.

The only thing I could do was get enough evidence of her cheating and poor moral character that I might be named custodial parent.

My manager told me that my wife and her lover picked out the apartment together and he filled out the application with her. They had rented the apartment together. It was their love nest. He and I decided to wire the apartment for video and audio before Wendy could move in. I had more than enough money to hire the work done and the equipment installed in the manager's office.

The tenants thought there was a new building security system being installed.

This time I made sure Wendy paid the full rent. Actually, it was a little higher than all the other units. But since her current boyfriend paid the tariff, I didn't care. I made sure the apartment was in "our" name because I didn't want any alert lawyer to claim that the information I was gathering through the video and audio recordings was inadmissible in court.

I began collecting my evidence for a divorce.

Since Wendy had now effectively moved out of our home, my monthly visits to her bedroom stopped. While she had promised that she'd be home on weekends, she never did. I became very friendly with the "five sisters" and my purchases of hand cream really went up.

When Wendy decided to anoint our daughter Amy and I with a visit home for the weekend, Amy was thrilled to have her mother around again. Amy was at that age when she needed a mother around. She needed to bond with a female and make girl talk and all that stuff. Dad just did measure up any more.

Amy started idolizing her mother and Wendy's life style. I figured this was just a phase Amy was going through, so I played along.

Little did I know how wrong I was.

When Wendy did bless me with a visit to my bed, I could not perform any longer. I kept seeing the videos with her lover and hear their sounds of their sex session. She allowed her lover to do everything to her. She acted like his slave. I could hear him belittling me as he screwed her and her agreeing with him that I was inadequate as a lover and a man.

"Bill, what is wrong with you?" she asked after an unsuccessful attempt to get me erect." We haven't had sex in months and you can't even get an erection. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you had a girl friend."

"I'm sorry Wendy, but I've got too much on my mind to perform. I'll do better next time. I promise."

Next time never came.

Wendy's boyfriend sent the rent checks for her apartment to a rent collection PO Box where they eventually got to me. I copied them and deposited the originals in the bank. A lot of you are wondering why I didn't get a little revenge on him while he screwed my wife.

Don't be disappointed, I did.

The bank manger I did my company business with was a good friend of mine as well as a good friend of the manager of my wife's lover's bank. Just for fun, we started watching his finances. We soon knew he lived too close to the edge and we wanted to help him over.

After a couple of months we noticed a pattern in his finances. It seems he was a little short of cash every couple of months and depended on the "float" time between deposits and withdrawals to stay afloat.

His accounts were enough short of cash that if his rent check on my wife's apartment was deposited at certain times of the month, they would be returned for insufficient funds or (better yet!) cause a few of his wife's checks to be returned for insufficient funds. Get the picture?

So we started playing games with his accounts.

Soon not only was he getting dinged by my company with returned check fees and late rent charges, but he was paying bank fees on the checks that his wife wrote which were being returned also. Soon a lot of her checks, to her embarrassment, were being refused by her favorite stores. Even some of her girl friends started asking for cash from her if they split a lunch check. Our plan was working perfectly.

Because of all these hits for returned checks and fees, his credit rating was lowered. His credit card companies didn't like that. While they didn't actually close his accounts, they pulled another better stopper. They kept lowering his credit limit to exactly what he owed, effectively stopping him from charging anything. This also affected his wife's use of the joint cards. As you can imagine she was a little upset by this because no woman wants her credit card declined.

I enjoyed the shit out of these times. Not only was he being dinged for $200 to $300 in late fees and return check charges, he also had to explain to his wife how these mistakes were happening without mentioning it was the fault of my wife's apartment complex and their depositing habits. Oh I bet there were some interesting conversations over family finances at his house.

My next break was sent from heaven. My wife had visited her doctor for female problems. Her pap smear returned indicated that she had some form of cancer. Our relationship was such by that time that she didn't tell me anything about it. She only informed me that she was having some female problems and needed surgery.

The truth came out when my then 17 going on 18 year old daughter, Amy, let the cat out of the bag. She told me that she was going to stay with her mother.

"Amy why?" I asked. "Have I been that bad a father to you?"

"No Dad you haven't, but Mom needs me. She has ovarian cancer. And you don't love her anymore but I still do. I want to help my Mother get through these next months until she's better."