I sat and I waited. The private eye I had hired told me this was the address she came to, and she had said she'd be home late tonight. I wasn't heartbroken about it. She really forced me to give up on the numerous things I loved, but refused to give up on the things she liked. I wanted to buy a new Benz? Too expensive, she'd tell me. I kept the old one until she insisted it broke down too often, which was once. Buy a new Benz? No. Buy a used Benz? No. Buy a used Honda Accord? Yes. That, in and of itself was too large a sacrifice, and was one of the things that made me stop loving her.

No, not the car, per se, but the fact that she tried to control my spending, even to the point of preventing me from enjoying one of the things I enjoy most in life. I mean, if she was sacrificing things too, I'd understand. But she must spend $200 a week on beauty visits, she had to drive a Stepford Mobile RX350. She had to go off on vacations as she saw fit. Sometimes I was invited, but she always managed to either not invite me or schedule them at times I couldn't get off.

And kids? No kids. Ruin her figure, cost too much money, couldn't afford them. Yadda yadda. Sex? On rare occasion.

I could get over a lot of stuff, but that was the problem. This wasn't a lot of stuff. It was a whole shitload of stuff, all corresponding to a total lack of consideration and respect for me, my desires, my wishes, and me in general. A little of that? No problem. We can work through that. I talked to her about it, and she kept hen pecking me. Oh, and she wanted me to stop selling at flea markets.

Some guys can take that. I can't. I don't sit around telling my woman how to live. I expect my woman to not go around telling me how the fuck to live. Is that too much to ask? I don't think it is.

If I work hard, and make the bulk of the money, and without taking anything important away from her, I want to enjoy a $50,000 car on my commute to work, is that too much to ask? I mean, I make over a quarter of a million bucks a year. She makes like $40k. I think with how hard I work, I have the right to enjoy something better than a five year old demonstration that Soichiro Honda died, and his company's spirit with him.

So when I started to see signs that she was cheating on me, well, it wasn't surprising, and I went numb years ago. But this was, perhaps, my chance to get free from a life that I was not enjoying anymore. So here I was, sitting in my shitbox Accord. Waiting with a digicam. Knowing what window to look into.

My wife's RX350 pulled up and parked. I'm surprised she brings it here, because this is a neighborhood where my 5-year-old Accord DX with the manual door locks was considered a nice car. Yeah, look at that. I have an Accord DX. Emoticon to describe what owning one feels like corresponds to the trim level.

Anyway, she gets out. She's still a good looking woman. That wasn't the problem. She was just a bitch.

So after a few minutes, I climbed the fire escape and took out my camera. I won't tell you what I saw. This is a family sex stories site, and this was just too morally depraved. I will tell you it involved 3 black men, 3 white men, two fat women, a priest, a rabbi, a bullwhip, a rabbit, and - I swear to god - a Dalmatian. I just can't wait for her to tell me it had nothing to do with variety.

I gingerly went down the fire escape, found a trashcan, and with great care and precision, vomited. That poor innocent Rabbi. How can they let the rabbit do that to him? I vomited again.

Anyway, with more then enough evidence to not only get everybody in that room divorced, including the Priest and the Dalmatian, but to probably get a mob set up to lynch them all, I set off for home. I wasn't giddy. I would have been if it had been her and any single guy in the world. Hell, even a DP would have been ok. But the- No, I'm not going to go further into this.

I got home and found myself staring at my bar. I opened a new bottle and poured myself a belt of Plymouth Gin and it went down fast. I poured myself a second and it went down slightly less fast. I poured a third and simply gulped it. The fourth I drank like wine. The fifth, which was pretty damned good, but required a new bottle, I drank responsibly.

She came home, about the time I was preparing the sixth.

"Hello, darlin'" I slurred to her, "How was the group fuck?"

"You're drunk," she snarled at me.