Emails Ch. 02

Have you ever read one of those stories where the wife gets revenge on a cheating husband? Some of those stories are so unrealistic. I mean, how many wives actually tie their husbands to chairs and fuck some guy in front of him? Or, how many wives actually get videotaped screwing and then make the husband watch it? What I did wasn't that extreme, but at least it is realistic. I emailed a picture to Mark, the cheater.

The caption I sent was, "Revenge number one. How many more do I need to do?"

Can you believe the gall of the lying cheater? He emailed back, "AliciaJane, you have already done one more than you should have. I have never been unfaithful to you, and I am disappointed that you now are unfaithful to me. I will have a lawyer read those divorce papers you left with me."

After I confronted him on Monday he denied even knowing that woman – that slut – at the very place where he works. He's still denying it. I am angry all over again.

Yesterday, my husband's boss, or maybe I should say my soon-to-be ex-husband's boss, came to my cubicle at Brown Business. He, Jack Mason, wanted me to hand over Mark's laptop.

I told him, "No way! You can't have it. It has evidence of Mark's infidelity."

Until today I didn't know where Mark went, and I didn't care. Jack said something about frozen toes and Mark getting hurt. I think he said Mark is at Sanford Hospital. I really wasn't listening because I ranted about Mark being a lying, cheating bastard.

After Jack Mason left, Irene, in the next cubicle came over. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"I kicked Mark out Monday night," I blurted out to Irene.

"Wow, AJ, why'd you do that?"

"He's been cheating on me," I replied.

Irene and I have been friends for a few years. Last year she met Joe. Irene and Joe are a loving couple, Irene is reluctant to make a long term commitment, however.

I continued, "I need to talk to someone about it. Wanna go get a couple of drinks at the Dirty Bird after work?'

"You bet," replied Irene, "I will let Joe know I will be late getting home."

Today is not as cold as earlier this week. There was a dusting of snow on our cars. It took just a couple of minutes to sweep the windshield clean. Irene and I decided to meet at the Dirty Bird Lounge after I picked up divorce paperwork at a law office.

The Dirty Bird Lounge is across the Red River in Moorhead. Outsiders often refer to the area as Fargo-Moorhead, but those of us who live here either say Fargo or we say Moorhead. I took 12th Avenue to Moorhead. Once across the river it becomes 15h Ave. The Dirty Bird is just a few blocks east of the river. In spite of its name it is a nice, clean establishment with well maintained booths and every woman's dream – super clean restrooms.

Irene was waiting for me when I got there. She waved to me from a booth. As soon as I sat a waitress appeared.

"I will have a Corona Extra, please," I said. Irene was already sipping of her rum and coke.

"AJ, I will listen and I will give you a shoulder," my friend said.

"You know how I hate this time of year, right? I guess they call 'em the winter blues. On Monday I was feeling pretty down. I needed a pick-me-up, so I decided to go to the NDSU gym to practice tennis for awhile. Exercise sometimes helps with my winter mood. I sure wish summer would get here soon. I need sunshine. I need to play tennis."

Irene interrupted, "What's that got to do with Mark?"

"Oh, yes." I replied. "I called Mark to let him know I would be a bit late getting home. That gave him extra time for cooking. A hot supper was waiting for me. The stir-fry he cooked was pretty good, but it needed soy sauce. Anyway, Irene, after supper, I happened to notice Mark's work laptop. He seldom brings it home."

"And...?"

I continued, "I saw an email from Mark's lover! She was eagerly waiting for Friday so she could feel his tongue and lips again."

"Mark had the gall to claim he didn't even know the slut. His denial of the obvious truth was more than I could handle. I was furious. I still am angry, but nothing like I was on Monday. I told him to get out of my house and out of my life. He left."

Irene asked, "Where did he go?"

"I don't know. Oh, I guess he got hurt at work or something. His boss said Mark's at Sanford Hospital."

"Are you going to get revenge?" asked my friend.

"What do you mean by revenge?"

"You know, fuck some guy and send Mark pictures so he can suffer, too."

"No, I am not going to be unfaithful to my marriage vows. Mark's cheating does not mean it is OK for me to cheat, I replied, "but I wouldn't mind hurting him."

"OK, then, how about fake fucking? Send an email with a staged photo. I bet I could get Joe to pretend to screw you. I could take some pictures. Send them to Mark and make him suffer." Irene's idea was sounding pretty good, but, I was on my third Corona by then.

"Let's do it!"

Irene made the arrangements and two more beers later we were at Joe's apartment.

"Now, Joe," said Irene, "Remember, this is just pretend. You do not get to really screw AJ. Is that clear?"

"Yes, honey," smiled Joe.

Irene ripped the covers off the bed and gave directions. "AJ, you have to take off your top, but you can leave your skirt on. We will cover that part with this sheet."

"Joe, take off your shirt and t-shirt. Your sweatpants need to stay on." Yummy, Joe appears to be one of those body builder guys. I think the term is six-pack for that tight tummy, and his arms, shoulders and pecs just shouted muscle. Irene has a gorgeous guy for her boyfriend.

Irene had me lie on the bed, hike up my skirt, and spread my legs. My panty was quite visible to her and to Joe.

Joe climbed on and got into missionary screwing position. He looked into my eyes with his steel blue eyes. Irene covered our behinds and legs with the sheet.

"Yo, Joe, what's this? Feels like you are hard under those sweatpants." His big cock was snuggled up to my panty.

His reply, "Well, how can I not be when I am between the legs of a sexy woman."

"Joe!" That was Irene. "Let's not make it that real."

Tell me again. Why am I in this position? Oh, yeah. We are having a pretend love making session so I could have a revenge picture to send Mark. But, I haven't had any sex five days. Joe was practically dry humping me, I loved it. I got so turned on I almost shouted, "Forget the pretend, let's really fuck!" I resisted because I am going to honor my marriage vows.

Irene brought me back to reality. She said, "AJ turn your head a bit more toward the camera. Mark needs to know it is you. And, Joe, turn yours away from the camera. No point in letting anyone know who you are."

Click. Click. Click. Irene took a series of pictures.

Even after the picture taking Joe kept on rubbing up against me. If we didn't have clothes on we would be fucking. OMG, I think he would fuck me right in front of his girlfriend! Are all men cheating bastards?

I thought back to events earlier this week. How could Mark appear to be such a loving husband when he is cheating on me? Sunday, the day before the big surprise, he made love to me in the kindest, most tender way. He started by massaging my shoulders. "Lie down," he said after a couple of minutes. I lay on the couch face-down while Mark massaged my neck, my shoulders, my back – and you know it, my butt.

"You may unhook my bra," I suggested. He did. The massage continued for what seemed like a half hour. It was probably really only a few minutes though.

"Roll over, let me do the other side."

I rolled over. Mark gently but firmly massaged my breasts. He unbuttoned my shirt and slid his hand under my bra cups. Oh, ooh, aw. His gentle sooth fingers felt so good on my bare boobs. He leaned down to kiss a nipple. That just about always makes my private place tingle and warm. I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. "Mark, honey, I have another place that needs your attention."

I lifted my butt and he pulled my pants off me. Presented for his viewing was one of Mark's favorite sights, me in my leopard print Vanity Fair bikini, not thong, slinky panties. One of his gentle fingers caressed my panty right over my most sensitive pleasure spot. My juices soaked my panties and Mark's fingers pressed and rubbed. My body shuttered. My body trembled. My body reacted almost violently as he finger fucked me.

I needed him. I wanted him. "Come on, honey, send a man where the boy started!"

Contractions started seconds after Mark put his cock into me. I was almost afraid I was going to squeeze his erection away, but, no he stroked in and out feverishly. Wow, his man juice shot into me just as I reached my climax.

Whew, that was quite the love making session.

But that was Sunday. The next day I found out that my so-called loving husband is actually a double-crossing lying cheater

He made the mistake of leaving his work laptop out where I could see it.

I read an email.

"Hi Marc, Lover Boy! I sure enjoyed what your lips did for me last night. You owe me a new pair of panties to replace the ones you ripped off me. Tee hee. See ya Friday night!"

Pain and anger struck me when I saw that email from Mark's lover. I was so mad at Mark that I even hit him with a frying pan. Boy, you should have seen him scramble out of the house when I told him to get out.

I had a memory flashback of Mom's tears when Dad turned out to be a cheater. When I was in middle school I frequently found Mom crying when I came home from school. Back then I wasn't savvy enough to figure out why there sometimes were ice wars between Mom and Dad. Apparently, Dad had cheated on Mom repeatedly. and she forgave him and took him back. On the day I turned thirteen, Mom and I shopped at the mall.

"Hey, Mom, is that Dad over there?" I pointed into a lingerie shop. Dad was looking at some very suggestive items. Clinging to him was a tall skinny brown-haired woman with huge hooters. Mom told me to wait outside. She went in. That was the last time I saw my father. Are all men cheating, lying bastards?

"I might as well get this over with," I told myself on the way to work Friday morning. I had the divorce papers. Sanford Hospital is only a bit out of my way, so I am paying Mark a visit.

I saw him from the hallway. Mark's head was bandaged. He must have hit his head on something at work. Oh, and a cast on his hand. His boss, Jack Mason, did say Mark was injured, but at the time I didn't listen to any of the details. I entered the room. Mark didn't smile when he saw me. In fact, it took him a few seconds to say anything.

Finally, he spoke, "Hi, Sexy babe."

What an outrage! Mark acted like I would be happy to see him. That sexy babe greeting was for when I still loved him, not for when he is a dirty, low-down, lying, cheating bastard. I must have looked as angry as I felt. Mark soon was shouting for the nurses to "rescue" him from me.

He shouted, "Get this woman away from me. She's the one who hurt me before, and I think she's going to do it again!"

Two nurses appeared. I gave the divorce papers to one of them. "Give this to that bastard."

I left. What was that about me hurting him? I thought he was here from a work accident. True, I did clunk him a couple of times with that pan, but surely that wouldn't have harmed him much.

Well, nevertheless, I am irate with him all over again. How dare he call me sexy babe!

Irene had a thumb drive with pictures on it when I arrived at work. We went into her cubicle to view them. I chose one that sure looked like Joe and I were fucking. I suspect it was taken at the most passionate time of our dry humping, when my panties were soaked with my juices.

"By the way, AJ, Joe and I had a good time after you left last night," Irene giggled. "You got him pretty excited."

I logged into my home email account and sent a message and a picture to Mark's work email. I don't know when he will see it, but I hope it hurts him as much as I was hurt.

The police visit later that afternoon caused a bit of a stir around the cubicles. The officer said he wanted to clean up some paper work and asked me about hitting Mark with a frying pan. I told him a story about how we were having an argument and Mark swung a fist at me, but I had the skillet in my hand and used it to deflect Mark's blow. The cop wrote a note and left.

That brings us to where my narrative began. Mark sent an email with a lame cowardly story about not being unfaithful and how he was disappointed in me.

Not only is Mark a lying, cheating bastard, but he is a cowardly one, too. When we met on Tuesday at the attorney's office he wasn't really there. The lying, cheating, cowardly bastard was in the next room watching on closed circuit TV.

My attorney and I waited while four people filed in. One was Mark's lawyer; the next was Jack Mason, Mark's boss from Mason and Sons. The other two were strangers. The young man looked a bit nervous. The woman holding his hand had the blackest hair I have seen in years. It flowed down her shoulders and tried to cover what I think are D cup boobs.

Introductions were made.

"What," I blurted out, "is that Betty Schultz woman doing here? She's the slut; she's the one that Mark is banging."

My attorney shushed me and told me to sit down.

He turned back. "Please continue with the introductions."

The third person said, "I am Marcus Anderson, sometimes I am called Marc. That's Marc with a C not Mark with a K. I am engaged to Betty Schultz. We will be married in less than three weeks.

I couldn't believe this. The slut Betty is cheating on her finance with Mark. Not only did she ruin my marriage, but it looks like she's going to ruin her own even before it starts. Huh, what's that he said about Marc with a C and Mark with a K? Who cares? Oh, same last name. Interesting.

Marc with a C continued, "Betty, please show them your email address book."

Betty spoke, "The Company, Mason and Sons, sets up all of their computers with the email addresses of every employee. That makes it easier to send messages. Please look here. It says 'Anderson.Mark@MSons.com.' Just above it is an address I added. It says 'Anderson.Marc@Yahoo.com'

Jack spoke now, "A. J., this is the copy of an email that you gave me last week. Please notice that it was addressed to Marc with a C, not Mark with a K. It appears that Betty clicked the wrong address when sending that email. I believe that Mark with a K tried to tell you about the mail being some sort of mistake."

I was shocked. Could I have been mistaken about Mark? It looks that way. I muttered, "Mark really didn't have an affair, looks like I messed up."

"Mrs. Anderson, your husband has asked me to convey to you his desires," said Mark's attorney. "You are to drop the divorce proceedings, and you are to prepare an affidavit that tells the truth of Mark's injuries a week ago Monday."

The attorneys decided to end the meeting and scheduled another for the next day.

I ran out of the room crying. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have snapped to the wrong conclusion so quickly? Why didn't I believe Mark?

Mark is not a lying, cheating bastard after all. I will drop the divorce and hope he will forgive me for doubting him.

I met with my lawyer, Mr. Rosenberg, Wednesday.

"Mrs. Anderson, do you wish to drop the divorce proceedings?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Schlafly, Mark's attorney, wants an affidavit that tells what happened when Mark was injured. What did happen?

What happened? I don't understand the request about Mark's injuries. Wasn't he in the hospital because of some work accident?

I replied. "I don't know about his injuries. All I know is what happened that Monday. I thought Mark had cheated. He denied it and even claimed not to even how Betty Schultz. I got angry and told him to get out of the house. Oh, and I hit him a couple of times with a skillet. I chased him out of the house."

Mr. Rosenberg said, "It could be detrimental for you to put that information into an affidavit. It could be used as an admission of committing assault. That's a felony crime."

"Mr. Rosenberg, Mark has always been a kind and loving husband. I will take a chance that he will not use that information to hurt me. Let's prepare the document and I will sign it."

The next meeting with the attorneys was devastating. Again Mark was in the next room watching on closed circuit TV. It was just me and the two lawyers.

Mr. Rosenberg started the meeting, "Here is a document that states that the divorce petition is withdrawn. Here is a notarized affidavit that describes the events of that night. In it Mrs. Anderson describes how she was angry and assaulted Mr. Anderson, striking him twice with a frying pan and then locking him out when he escaped out the front door. She says that Mr. Anderson did nothing to provoke her other than deny having an affair."

Well, I thought to myself, this should get things back to the way they were before Monday, January 10, 2011. My divorce request is withdrawn; Mark and I can reconcile, can't we? I certainly did not expect what happened next.

Mark wants to divorce me! If he wanted a divorce, why didn't he just let my petition continue?

Mark's lawyer said, "Here is our petition for divorce. Mr. Anderson is asking to divorce Mrs. Anderson on the grounds of adultery and extreme cruelty. This emailed photo of Mrs. Anderson having sex with another man is evidence of the adultery and the affidavit you just us is evidence of the cruelty."

Oh, no. Mark thinks I committed adultery. That stupid staged picture is going to backfire on me.

I protested, "I didn't have sex with that man! It was a staged photo. Look at it. You can't see it, but we were fully dressed under that sheet. Look at it. I even have my bra on. I didn't screw him. One of my co-workers took this picture of me with her boyfriend. I wanted Mark to think I had a revenge fuck."

Mark came into the room. I was shocked to see him in a wheelchair. He wore a baseball cap that he prompted removed. Half of his head was shaved clean; I could see an angry row of stitches. One hand was in a cast and both feet were wrapped in white bandages. What happened to him?

He spoke to me, "AliciaJane I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt. I am going to believe that you didn't have sex with him. You refused to believe me, but I do believe you."

Mark directed his lawyer to remove the adultery part from the petition. "But, leave in the part about extreme cruelty."

My attorney commented, "I fail to see how a couple of hits with a frying pan warrant being called extreme cruelty."

Mark continued, "Mr. Rosenberg, my formerly loving wife is a competitive tennis player. Her serve was once clocked at 105 miles per hour. That's only a bit less than the Venus Williams' record 129 miles per hour! That's how a couple of hits with a frying pan is extremely cruel."

To me he said, "AliciaJane, I cannot live with anyone who did to me what you did. You hurt me. My head required fourteen stitches. I lost a pint and a half of blood. I have headaches much of the day. My hand has multiple breaks on four bones. Surgery was required to put them back together. I will require physical therapy and occupational therapy after the cast comes off. I am missing four toes. They were too badly frozen when you kicked me out the house with no shoes on the coldest day this winter! It will be several weeks before I will be allowed to try walking. I will have a limp and probably will need a cane for the rest of my life."

I couldn't help but cry. I did not realize that I had harmed him so badly. What Mark said next was be greatest pain for me.

"But the biggest hurt of them all was that you refused to believe me."

Mark wheeled his chair around and rolled out of the room, and out of my life. Two days ago that's what I wanted, but now...