I looked around the restaurant nervously. I used to be really good at the dating thing, but years of not using my dating and flirting muscles had led to their atrophy. Blind dates like this one were especially trying because let's face it; a blind date is like sticking your arm in a geyser. Most of the time nothing happens, but if your timing isn't right you can get hurt pretty badly.

A regular date is bad enough. But at least then you've already met the person and know something about them. You've more than likely asked them if they'd go out with you and they've said "yes."

That tends to boost a guy's confidence because you have a woman who is already interested in you enough to want to spend some time with you. If it doesn't work out, well that's what dating is about anyway; thinning the herd to find the one for you.

Blind dates on the other hand are usually a case where well meaning friends hook up two people who are probably perfect for each other because no one else wants either one of them.

The people involved are usually described with terms like, "She's got a great personality," or "He's a great guy." When you get out of your twenties it's even worse. People start wondering why you've never been married.

Of course the absolute worst is when you have been married before. If you've been divorced it's like saying that someone else wanted you but once they got a chance to live with you they found out what's really wrong with you and sent you back.

I sometimes have the impression of divorced people as being like those characters from that Rudolph the Red nosed reindeer Christmas Special. They belong on the island of misfit toys. I couldn't believe I was that desperate, but here I was.

Before I got too far into my mental wanderings a group of women showed up at the door. They all looked through the restaurant. At first I thought they were all together but the way they each looked around told me they weren't. The first one had to weigh four hundred pounds. Oh please don't let it be her, I thought. Whew, dodged a bullet, a woman at another table waved her over.

Holy shit please let it be her, I thought looking at the next one. Unfortunately a guy came over to her and took her away.

Uh Oh! I might jut have to sneak out of here. The last one was thin, bone thin and about six foot ten. Her neck muscles didn't appear to be strong enough to support the weight of the lenses in her glasses so she was constantly looking down.

"Looking for me?" the sultry voice came from over my shoulder. I turned away from "Big Ethel," and was pleasantly surprised.

She was about 5' 4" and built like somebody's wife. She was built for comfort. She was neither fat nor overly skinny. She was perfect. She had a few extra pounds on her, but what normal mid thirties woman doesn't.

She had collar length rich brown hair that flared out and was longer on one side in the front. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously. She was still smiling at me. She had generous breasts and well rounded hips. Just a little bit of rounding in the tummy. Her legs had probably been spectacular once and they were still very good.

All in all, I was happy. She wasn't a super model; she was the girl next door all grown up.

"You are Rudy, aren't you?" she said, bringing me back to reality.

"Uhm Rudy," I said smoothly. She laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound in the universe. Suddenly my feet got really interesting to me and I had to look at them.

She gently grabbed my chin. "Let me guess. You're a little bit nervous about meeting me, right?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I think it's really cute. You're a nice looking man. You have nothing to be nervous about. Let's have a great dinner and get to know each other, okay." With only a couple of sentences she'd restored my confidence.

Guys really are the ones who need to have confidence on a date. The women are usually the ones who are in control of everything.

We ordered, she got some odd sounding thing that she said she loved. I was torn. I really liked this woman and I had to analyze everything I did. Even down to the food I ordered. If I ordered steak, she'd probably think I was overly aggressive and expected to fuck her tonight. On the other hand I also couldn't order "Chicken," in any way shape or form. So I played it safe and got the grilled salmon. It wasn't red meat, but "grilled," still sounded macho enough.

We had a very pleasant conversation during dinner. We laughed a lot and smiled at each other a lot too. We seemed to have similar dispositions and I found myself wondering why this woman wasn't married.

After the meal she suggested we get some ice cream and go for a walk, because she'd enjoyed the time we had so far and wanted to get to know me more.

That was when the fucking train went off the rails. "Ice cream," I hissed. My normally composed face grimaced at the mention of it.

"You don't like Ice cream?" she asked gently. I think she was afraid I was going to freak out.

Maybe she recognized something in my eyes but her smile came back.

"I think there's a story here isn't there?" she asked. I pursed my lips and nodded.

"So why don't we pass on the ice cream and just take a walk on the riverfront while you tell me about it?"

I paid the check and we walked out the door. We went to the river walk near the restaurant entrance. It was a cool night so I gave her my jacket. The moon was high in the sky and lit up the night and the river beautifully. I really liked this woman and I wanted to get to know her a lot better. In my mind I could see us together so she'd have to know sooner or later.

"I've been married before," I began. "I'm a widower."

"Me too," she said quickly. "More than once, three times actually."

"Well it would have to be something like that with you," I said. "You're so nice I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to leave you, so I didn't think you were divorced."

"Aren't you a sweetie," she said grabbing my arm and pulling me closer. In the position we were in my arm was resting against the side of her ample breast and yep it gave me a tent.

"Go ahead, tell me your story," she said.

"I'd been married for about 8 years when I figured it out," I said. "I'd been out of town on business, and was halfway down the street from our home when I noticed the ice cream truck in front of it. My wife Justine was the last one in line behind two or three kids.

She only had on a T shirt and some tight shorts which gave me the impression that she'd been working in the yard. When the last of the kids had paid for his Popsicle and left I noticed Justine get into the ice cream truck and he pulled off.

I was shocked. I couldn't think of any reason for her to get into an ice cream truck. I went home and unpacked while I waited for her to return. When she came in she looked at me nervously and I could tell she'd done something wrong.

She came over and tried to kiss me, but I pulled away from her. I still hadn't decided what to do yet. The first thing in my head was to file for a divorce first thing in the morning. I rejected that because; A I didn't have any concrete proof. And B in our state, she'd get half of everything.

I really didn't like the idea of paying the bitch to continue fucking around on me. I guess deep down inside I loved her and I didn't want to just throw away my happy life. But I think even then I knew that my life with Justine was over. Justine was a beautiful girl. I say girl because even into our thirties she was built like a high school cheerleader. She didn't have any pom-poms but she had everything else. The tight muscular legs, the round little butt. God I loved her.

"What's wrong honey?" she asked.

"I think I have a cold," I said.

"I'm going to take a shower," she smiled. "I'll cook dinner and then we can spend some time together." From the way she said that I could tell she wanted to try to give me some guilt sex.

I didn't eat much; actually I just pushed the food around on the plate.

"Well if you're not in the mood to eat, maybe we should go take a nap," she said.

"Actually I'm not in the mood to sleep either," I said.

"Neither am I," she said smiling at me.

"Justine, I've been on the road for a while," I said. "I need to do some things."

"But..." she said.

"Maybe later," I told her.

I headed out to the garage. When I really need to think, I wash my car. My car meaning my 2009 Mustang GT 45th anniversary edition, not the Ford Fusion that I drove on my road trips and for work.

I didn't go into the house until long after Justine had gone to sleep. I got up early the next morning and left the house. I was too depressed to go to work so I called in. I told my boss I'd picked up a bug and needed a couple of days off to kick it.

He was so happy about the sales I'd made on my road trip that he told me to take as long as I needed. I parked my car around the block from us and snuck into the house next door from us. I'd thought about it the previous night. Our neighbors were away for a month and had left their keys with us so we could water their plants and pick up their mail.

I decided to see how often my wife fucked the Ice Cream man. I guessed that maybe it would help me to decide what to do next. Boy was I surprised. I was watching the neighbors TV and enjoying myself when I heard a loud roar coming up the street. Shit, I thought. I'd forgotten to put the trash out. I looked out the window and saw Justine wheeling the heavy can out to the curb. Then I saw the trash guy get off the truck and go to help her. He emptied the can into his truck and she wheeled it back to the side of our house.

He followed her into the house. I ran around to the side of the house where I could see what was going on. They went into my living room.

Justine pushed him down onto my sofa in his dirty overalls. The she pulled out his dick. From my vantage point in the house next door I couldn't answer any of the questions going through your filthy little mind right now.

I couldn't tell whether or not he was bigger than me, or the size or shape of his equipment. But realistically all I could tell was that my marriage was over. Justine turned around and impaled herself on him. He reached around and tried to grab her boobs and she pushed his hands away. She bounced herself up and down on him for a few minutes then got up and started talking to him.

He didn't seem too pleased. It almost looked like she got off on him and left him hanging. Then she walked him to the door and pushed him out. I looked again through the front windows and saw him kick my door before getting back into his truck and driving down the street. He knocked over a couple of garbage cans and missed a few totally.

As pissed as I was at Justine, the sight of that garbage truck tearing through the neighborhood was funny as hell. My laughter was cut short though as my cell phone started ringing. I answered the phone and was shocked.

"Rudy, why didn't you sleep in our bed last night?" asked Justine.

"I told you, I've got a cold," I snapped.

"Well why didn't you come and tell me that? Why didn't you come and kiss me goodbye before you left this morning? You were already away from me for two days. Is something wrong?" she asked.

I didn't say anything.

"Rudy, I love you. I always have," she said. "Til death do us part."

"I have to go," I said. "I have a call on another line."

For the rest of the day, until it was time for me to come home anyway I watched her. When the ice cream truck went by she didn't go to it. Maybe she suspected that I knew something or maybe it was just too close to the time when I'd come home and she didn't want to risk it. When she started to make dinner, I ran around the block got my car and drove home.

I'm not sure if it was just that the newness of the situation was gone or something else, but the discovery that the ice cream man wasn't the only man besides me who was fucking Justine didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was that she tried to kiss me when I walked in the door.

"Why don't we have a quick dinner and then go for a drive?" she asked. Going for a drive was Justine code for, "Let's go somewhere and park, like teenagers do." I have to admit we did that a lot. We'd drive to a nice secluded spot and start out with a few gentle kisses that often evolved into full blown hard core sex barely out of the eye of anyone passing. I'd always known that Justine had a bit of a kinky streak to her, but before now, it excited me.

"I'm not feeling up to it tonight," I said. "Besides we've done that hundreds of times." I was starting my own code now. That one meant "Not only are you never getting your skanky ass in my Mustang again, but I'm not fucking you either."

"But you've always said that you'd never get tired of..." she began. She really did look hurt. I couldn't understand her. This was like something out of the fucking twilight zone. She's cheating on me with I still have no idea how many guys, but she acts like she's hurt because I'm not tripping over myself to screw her. How much sex does she need? Does she have a quota? Does she have to screw a certain number of guys a week to live?

"Justine, just give me a few days to get over this bug I picked up," I said. "It's got me feeling really bad. I'm also kind of short tempered, so sometimes I say the wrong things."

She nodded her head. "Well would you like me to get you a cup of tea and just lie down and hold you like we did when you had the flu last year?" she asked. "That was so nice. Well I know it wasn't nice for you with the fever and you throwing up and the headaches. But for me it was wonderful. I was just lying there taking care of the man I love, seeing to his every need. The only thing more romantic would have been if you'd told me to get off the pill and have your baby."

Of course I didn't say anything, but I'm sure you can tell what was going through my mind. How the hell would we know whose baby it was? Please stay on the pill. I don't need my divorce complicated any further. I grunted to acknowledge that I'd heard her because she was looking like I was supposed to say something. What should I say?

"Justine I'm really worried about you picking this up from me," I said. "Maybe I should just order a pizza and hit the guest room."

"No," she said sharply. "I love you, Rudy. Whatever you have, I'll risk it. I don't want to spend another night without your arms wrapped around me."

Then unexpectedly she reached out and put her hand on my forehead. "You don't have a fever," she said.

We decided to compromise. She'd stay on her side of the bed in deference to my worrying about her picking up my illness. But I'd sleep in our bed so she could be near me. With that settled she went into the kitchen to finish making dinner, after telling me that if I was sick I needed good nutritious food, not pizza.

Maybe my confusion makes sense now. I just could not figure this woman out, not that any man has ever been able to figure any woman out, but this was the woman who until yesterday I loved. On one hand she was screwing at least two other men. On the other she claimed to love me deeply and seemed genuinely concerned about my welfare. Both scenarios seemed to be true. But how could they be? If she loved me so fucking much how could she disrespect me that way? It made no sense.

After dinner, she went into the bathroom and came out in an outfit that reminded me of when we were younger. She had squeezed herself into her old cheerleaders skirt and top and nothing else. She stood right in front of the TV I was trying to watch and started stretching. Then she turned around and bent over right in front of me. She followed that up by doing some really high kicks. Every time she kicked I could see that she wasn't wearing panties. Finally she rolled onto her back and spread her legs as far as she could. Her pussy seemed to be winking at me.

"Just lay down," she said. "I'll do all of the work. It's been three days Rudy."

As I looked into her vagina, I no longer saw the warm fuzzy place I'd nicknamed "My space." I saw a giant vat full of who knew what noxious substances. It was probably a combination of rancid Ice Cream, garbage and every STD known to man. The thought that I'd fucked her only the day before I went on my trip filled me with fear.

My stomach was becoming very unsettled. "I could just give you blow job," she cooed. "And if you wanted to you could eat me."

What followed was not pretty. We had just finished dinner, which only gave me more ammunition. If there's a category in the Guinness book of records for most powerful projectile vomit, my picture would be next to it. The undigested vegetables from the soup we'd eaten were all over the place. Her skirt was probably ruined, and I'm sure at least a couple of chunks of carrot made it inside of her.

"You really are sick aren't you?" she asked. "My poor baby."

"I think I should sleep in the guest room after all," I said.

Once again before I could even explain why, she cut me off. "No, Rudy. No chance," she said. "I love you, you're stuck with me."

The part of me that still loved her leaped to the front then. Somehow after seeing her fuck two men in less than 24 hours, it was still trying to find reasons why her behavior wasn't really bad.

Maybe that's it, I thought. Maybe it's the fact that I've been away from home for two days and didn't fuck her last night? If that was true, then I should be climbing the walls because I'd been faithful to her. But she seemed so desperate to prove to me that she loved me. Later that night when I slid into bed next to her, she rolled over near me, and mumbled that she loved me. That actually made me cry, she was asleep and still claiming she loved me. You can't fake that. What was going on?

The next day, after parking my car around the block again and making it to my neighbor's house, I started watching her again. I'd thought to bring my binoculars this time. As I watched her thawing meat and getting things together for that evening's dinner despite the way I felt I smiled. She was cutting steak into smaller pieces. She also had peppers, bean sprouts and mushrooms. There was no doubt she was making my favorite dinner. She went out on the deck to tan. I could hear her humming to herself as she thumbed through a magazine.

She looked really good in her swimsuit. Even after all of this time she could still get me excited. God I was going to miss her. Then she looked over at the house I was watching her from. I thought for a second that she knew I was there. But she just smiled and started talking to herself. Maybe she was just bored and lonely. I guess we all talk to ourselves occasionally. But she wasn't just talking to herself. She was talking to me. Luckily the window facing our deck was open a few inches and I could hear her as well as see over our privacy fence. She probably thought that with the neighbors out of town no one could see or hear her.

"Okay Rudy, how do you like these?" she asked as she pulled the straps of her top down and exposed her tiny breasts. Then she wriggled out of her bottoms. My dick was as hard as firewood.

She started lightly rubbing her crevice with her fingertips as she spoke. "No Rudy, you're still too sick," she said, her words choked with lust. "Oh alright, you can lick my pussy but only because you're my husband and I love you. She was gently stroking her labia and her head was starting to loll from side to side.

"Stop it Rudy," she snapped. "No fucking, Rudy!" I couldn't help it. I pulled down my pants and started rubbing my dick too. There was just something dirty about jerking off while watching your own wife doing herself, while she imagined it was you.

Then as I stroked my dick, trying to synchronize our movements she stuck the first finger inside herself. "Oh Rudy," she said. "Ruuuuuuudeeeeeeeee!" As her hips started lifting off the lounge she reclined on in time to her calling out my name, I lost control too. I sprayed cum all over my neighbor's wall. I hadn't shot off like that in a while.

Justine was just coming down from her own personal mountain as I looked back at her. "Anytime you want it baby. I love you Rudy," she said.

I felt like an ass, for spying on her. She drifted off for a slight nap, obviously spent. I wanted to warn her. Justine don't fall asleep in the sun, you'll burn. But not being psychic, she didn't receive my thoughts.

I looked at her body. She still had an athlete's body. Thin tapering thighs with sculptured calves that where just a bit too big to be truly proportionate. I loved it when she wrapped those powerful legs around my waist to prevent me from pulling out of her. Slim hips but a full protruding butt, like two half globes that made seeing her in a skirt a religious experience. Her tight tummy still flat though we'd both passed thirty. And those two tiny A cup breasts that were so sensitive that I could probably get her nipples hard by blowing on them from here in the house next door.

That was the body I loved. It was mine damn it. I'd said the vows and gone through the courtship and the rituals to earn it. I'd taken care of that body for the whole time that we'd been married. I've fed it, clothed it, bathed it, lotioned it, massaged it, licked it and fucked it. How dare she give some asshole my body?

I decided then and there that I'd try to save my marriage. Maybe I could forgive her for fucking those two guys. Actually it was only a guy and a half, because the garbage man didn't get to finish. Justine clearly loved me as much as she said she did. A while later she went into the house to start the meat simmering. Then I heard it, the clanking and the squealing of brakes. An NPS truck pulled up in front of our house. Justine quickly got up and went into the house. She threw on a T shirt and a pair of shorts as she passed the bedroom and went to the door.

She answered the door and spoke to the driver for a few minutes. Then he went back to his truck and she followed him. She went into the truck with him. I thought that was against the rules. They stayed in the truck for a while. When she came out of the truck pulling her shorts back up, I'd changed my mind. There was no way I could stay married to her. As much as I loved her, it was over.

Over the next few days I made a decision. I took a couple of weeks of vacation time to get a handle on my home situation. I think my boss kind of got an idea of what was going on, when I asked him about taking her name off of my insurance policies and off of my health insurance. He told me to take as long as I needed, and if it came to it to let him know if I needed to change my situation.

I consulted several lawyers but none of them had any good news for me. We lived in a joint property state. The very best I could hope for was to get out of the marriage with my self esteem. And the way seeing her fucking other guys had left me, I really no longer had that.

It all came down to community property. The best I could really hope for would be a fifty/fifty split of our assets regardless of who did what. Basically guys, your wife can fuck a football team in front of you and ask you to hold their dicks while they force them in, and she's still going to get half of your shit. Unless you have kids, then you'll get even less. If she has a job, and makes less than you do, you have to pay her. If she doesn't have a job at all you have to pay her even more. If she has a job and makes more money than you do, you don't get dick.

Obviously the law was not on my side. I found myself wishing that all of those times a good looking woman had come on to me while I was on the road and I had said "No, I'm married," could be done over. I'd have a kid in every state in the fucking union.

By the end of the next week I was ready to go back to work. I had Justine's schedule pretty much down. On Monday she fucked the Ice Cream man. Tuesday was for the garbage guy. Wednesday the mailman made his delivery and Thursday was for the NPS man's package. Friday, Saturday and Sunday were supposedly all mine. Every weekend since we'd been married if I didn't have to travel for work we were inseparable. We always had been.

I thought about my options. I had three. I could pretend that I didn't know what was going on and hope that this was just a phase she was going through. I'd be hoping that her love for me would win out in the end and she'd stop. Of course there'd be nothing to prevent her from starting up again. The next option was to confront her and order her to stop. I'd tell her strongly that if she didn't cease and desist we were through. We'd of course have to go to counseling, which would cost me money. I loved the idea of having to pay money because she couldn't keep her legs closed.

Option 3 of course was the divorce. To go ahead bite the bullet, take my lumps and hope for a considerate judge who wouldn't make me pay her for too long. I'd also be hoping that she'd find someone else to fuck and marry them. That way would be better than if she just moved some guy in with her. In that case I'd be paying him to fuck her.

And make no mistake about it life is not good for divorced guys. I'd be stuck in some shitty little economy apartment, barely able to afford food. Shit the insurance for my Mustang would probably bankrupt me. Good Lord my future was so bright, I needed to wear shades. Maybe I could get a part time job working on one of those suicide hotlines.

By the time I went back to work, I was a bundle of nerves. It seemed like I was being set upon from all directions. At home Justine was all over me. She was as randy as a cat in heat. She sometimes even took my hand and stuck it down in her shorts juts to show me how much she claimed she wanted me. Of course I got into the habit of washing my hands with one of those industrial strength cleansers as soon as she touched me. You know the kinds that are so strong they strip the skin off of you like acid.

There was also the time that she tried to hurt my baby. She came over while I was waxing my car. I'd just spent an hour washing it and was almost done. She had on a skirt so short you could smell her brains, and she lifted one of her legs and put it up on my hood.

She actually left a trail of her juice on the car and showed it to me to let me see how wet she was. In our younger days I'd have fucked her right there in the driveway. But that day, realizing how cooties can fuck up a paintjob, I rewashed and waxed the whole car. I scrubbed extra hard the area where she'd left her slime trail. I guess that was really the straw that broke the camel's back. While we had dinner that night and she stared into my eyes telling me it was time. I realized that it was.

"Do you know what I'm talking about?" she cooed smiling at me.

"Uh huh," I said, smiling right back at her. In my mind I was thinking it's time for me to be rid of your cheating ass once and for all. Up until she slimed my Mustang, I'd been content to just play the waiting game because as bad as I felt, there are worse things than having a pretty woman hanging on your every word, and seemingly worshipping the ground you walk on. If I could have just gotten over the fact that she fucked four other guys all the time, life would have been a fucking paradise wouldn't it?

"It's time for us to have a baby," she said. "I don't care what we said about waiting until we were a certain age. I don't care about all of the trips we wanted to take or how much money we needed. I don't care about us having a bigger house. You're all I need. And you'll be all our baby needs. You're getting better. I think this flu is finally letting up on you after almost three weeks. You've almost got your strength back baby, so it's time for you to shoot a baby in me."

Women just have this way of fucking up everything you plan. We'd both always wanted a house full of kids. She came over and got on her knees in front of me. She kissed my hand like she was going to propose to me. "Will you solemnly swear to fuck the shit out of me?" she asked me seriously. "You do know that yours is the only sperm that's ever been in here?" she said rubbing her crotch.

It took a Herculean effort. But I managed to keep my composure. I even managed to keep my facial expression unchanged. The bitch was a sociopath. She was as good a liar as some of the salesmen I knew. The kind of person, who can swear to you that the special fuel treatment they're selling you will increase your horsepower, clean your fuel injectors and seal leaky gaskets all at the same time. Deep down they know that it's only gas they're selling you. But they're charging you 50 bucks for two ounces of it. "Pour it into your gas tank," they say.

Justine didn't know that I knew about the other four guys she was fucking on a regular basis. Maybe she was telling all of us the same shit. That way she could multiply her chances of getting pregnant. Shit, how would we ever know who the lucky guy who rang her bell really was?

Two's company, six is a fucking crowd. I had to get free of Justine one way or another. And looking at her as she knelt before me smiling, I realized that I hated that bitch with every fiber of my being. She had taken the love I'd given her for all of these years and perverted it into something ugly. I felt something in the pit of my stomach again, but this time it wasn't bile or vomit. This time it was hate, and it burned. In fact the fire was burning so bright that as she looked at me I felt warm all over. Yeah I knew what Justine wanted. She wanted a fucking baby. Well I knew what I wanted too. After three weeks with my head up my ass I finally knew what I wanted. I wanted revenge.