Cheating - A Love Story Ch. 01

You think through the important decisions in life. What you DON'T think through are the thousands of day-to-day choices that can just as easily shunt you down 50 miles of bad road.

This is about one of those.

I awoke in the middle of the night to discover that my wife had rolled over on my hand. I sleep with my arms extended. I don't know why? Ask my mother. Maybe my crib was too wide.

Anyhow, I awoke to find that my hand was completely trapped under my wife's belly, about a quarter inch above her slit.

One option was to carefully slide it out. But it was completely underneath her and I was concerned that the movement would wake her up.

The wife startles easily. And whenever she DOES, you get the dreaded "MOVE OVER". Most husbands recognize that tone. So instead I chose to slide my hand down the final quarter inch. Why did I decide to stimulate my wife in her sleep? It was probably, because I'm a well-known pervert.

But I also thought that she might roll off my hand, if I got her dreaming about other things. PLUS, there was just the outside chance that she might wake up horny and I would get laid.

In any case, my index finger WAS already bathed in all of that honey. So I began to ever so slowly move it around on her clit. It was hot down there and it was getting very humid.

Her breathing accelerated into a loud wheeze. I listened to her panting for a few seconds then I thought "Hmmm?" So I increased the pressure.

This was going to be fun. Maybe I would give her a sleeping orgasm.

She was moaning rhythmically, but very quietly, and producing little "mmmm" noises. Her hips were making small involuntary humping motions on top of my hand.

I was feeling pretty full of myself, downright diabolical.

That is until she started to whisper, "Mmmm, fuck me Jack, fuck me!"

I stopped in mid twiddle. The problem is that my name isn't Jack.

I abruptly withdrew my hand. She made complaining noises, pulled the covers over her shoulders and said "MOVE OVER".

See!! I told you!!!

Then she rolled onto her side; facing away from me, and went back to regular sleeping sounds. I lay there staring at the ceiling thinking, "Who the fuck is Jack! And why is he in my wife of 17 year's dreams?"

I was more mystified than alarmed. After all, she was sleeping and as far as I knew "Jack" could be her pet name for Leonardo De Caprio.

We have had a very good marriage and throughout all of those years I never had the slightest suspicion that she would as much as THINK about being with another man.

Then the devil that sits on my other shoulder reminded me that she was still a very attractive 42 year old woman with a shapely body. And I was a fifty year old semi-geezer.

We met at a party. She was trained as a teacher, but she was working as a development editor for a book publisher. I was already well established as a writer.

I never would have been at that party if I hadn't been dragged there by my literary agent, Sid. He thought that I didn't, "Get out enough".

He was right about that part. I had spent the early years working as a writing-whore for any odd job that paid more than a buck.

Without the money to take a girl anywhere, the best that I could expect, social-lifewise, was a score with a drunken college chick at a Columbia frat party.

However, between my book series and the articles for magazines I was comfortable at that point, if not exactly rich.

I had had the usual short affairs throughout my twenties, but none of those women did anything for me. Instead I stayed home; A LOT.

Beautiful is easy to find. But beautiful and possessing Dorothy Parker's combination of intelligence, wit and good humor, now THAT is a rare commodity.

I spotted her right away. She is exceptionally well endowed in the boob department. And given my fascination with those captivating female appendages - I blame my mother again - I homed in on her like I was a cruise missile and she was downtown Baghdad.

She had a pretty face, a downright wicked sense of humor and she was a writer too. I didn't take me more than six nanoseconds to realize that she was THE ONE.

I won't bore you with the details of the pursuit and capture.

Suffice it to say that I also discovered that she was exceptionally talented in areas that were not evident in her public persona.

I have always equated high intelligence with extraordinary bedroom skills and if that assumption is true then this girl was Einstein.

I proposed one bright fall day, down on one knee next to the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. We were married that December.

The first kid came along two years later and we added another two years after that.

We had a perfect life together. We both worked in the writing business. So we never lacked for things to talk about.

I was making really good money at that point and she was not doing badly herself. So we traveled a lot. She was my best friend.

We moved out onto Long Island. She took up golf. I golfed with her, wrote and we also sailed our little 27 foot C&C.

We spent a lot of summer nights anchored in Long Island Sound making the boat rock.

In fact, our sex life was as perfect as the rest of the moments in our life. She would frequently and expertly fuck me.

And she was totally uninhibited and perfectly skilled in the art of giving and taking maximum pleasure.

With such a fulfilling existence, it is perfectly understandable that I wouldn't think twice about the strange happenings of that night.

That is, until she walked into my home office five days later leading a tall, good-looking late 30s, early 40s fellow with a shy almost diffident air about him.

I work at home and although she still has commitments in the City she is also mainly based there.

So we have a quiet space in the house that is devoted to "contemplation and creative thinking". Of course the deep thought and inspiration that goes on in that room is impacted somewhat by having a 15 year old boy and a 13 year old girl as permanent houseguests.

She said, "Tom, I want you to meet Jack." The little voice inside my head was gibbering incoherently.

But I smiled and extended my hand and said," Pleased to meet you". Needless to say, I wasn't pleased.

So there really IS a Jack?

She said, "Jack is a new author who we have taken on as a development project and he is a big fan of your work. He has come all the way out here because he wanted to meet you".

The little voice in my head was throwing things around and raging, "What you really mean to say is that the home wrecking mother-fucker wants to "MEAT" YOU!!"

But instead I smiled affably and said, "Well that's very flattering, please sit down and tell me about yourself Jack?"

He sat in one of the leather wing chairs next to the fireplace while my wife sat opposite him on the couch next to my desk.

She crossed her gorgeous legs, without giving any hint of seduction, and settled down with one arm on the back of the couch. That move only served to emphasize her still formidable tits.

Jack was indeed a good looking guy. I quickly learned that he was married with three kids and a wife living on Staten Island. He was 39.

He worked as a high school English teacher But he had finished his first novel. It had been bounced around from publisher to publisher until it landed with my wife's people.

They thought it had promise. However, it was still very rough. That was where I came-in. They felt that I could help Jack shape it into something that would sell. That is, IF I was willing to work with him.

I looked over the traitorous son-of-a-bitch. He was not projecting, "I just fucked your wife". In fact, he seemed nervous, as a rookie might be who was being introduced to a veteran player.

My wife was looking at HIM with some interest and in my mind's eye "hunger".

I sat back in my chair, knitted my fingers together in front of me and said, "And what will I get out of this if I do it?" My little voice was muttering under its breath, "Besides a pair of cuckold's horns."

My wife said, "We will pay you a standard editor's fee of course and I really think that Jack has talent." My little voice went back to beating on the table yelling,"You think he DOES do you?"

I said to myself, "Well what the fuck... Keep your enemies closer". So I said, "I'll do it, but you two are going to have to be out here every day the rest of this week to work with me."

My thinking was that I could get a better fix on exactly how screwed I was watching them together.

Now normally I am not that crazy jealous. I know that Millie loves me – yes, her parents were deluded enough to name their daughter Millicent. And I know that she would have to be very tempted to throw away 17 years of marital bliss along with two kids.

But, notwithstanding the incident a week ago, there was something between them. It was in the familiar way she looked at him and he looked at her.

It was in the playful banter and in the way they leaned toward each other as they talked.

And it was a vast understatement to say that the whole thing was giving me serious blood-pressure issues.

Part of the problem was that it was so unfair. I have hot young women throwing themselves at me at book signings and other public events. And it has never crossed my mind to cheat.

I mean, you would have to have joined the ranks of the undead to NOT notice a nubile young thing sitting on the edge of the desk in tight pants while you signed her book.

And it is not hard to miss the adoring glances and the general flirtation from the author groupies at the parties.

But throughout all of that it never occurred to me to do anything other than come home to my wife and family.

In fact, Millie and I were rarely apart. I would schedule out-of-town appearances around whether she could join me.

I worked at home and the only times she was not physically with me was when she went into the City for occasional meetings.

I quickly learned that the meetings for the past month were only with Jack. How did I find that out? They BOTH told me. I remembered a late night or two.

But, they were so honest and up-front about their relationship that it really appeared to be strictly, development editor to author.

I kept telling myself that I had no reason to be concerned. He was properly respectful and she was as loving and attentive as ever. But I had to find out.

Suspicion is an insidious disease. I didn't want any doubts and misgivings to impact our easy loving relationship. So I JUST needed to make certain.

Accordingly, the next Monday when she went into the City I was on the train behind her.

I know that anybody reading this will think that I am a paranoid weenie. But my wife and my marriage are THAT important to me. I told myself that it was preventative medicine.

I figured that I would watch her in her typical day and be reassured. Then I could put the whole sordid thing behind me.

So, I was sitting in the park across from her building, reading the Times when she walked out of the entrance around 11:30. She hailed a cab and drove off.

I hailed the next cab and actually got to use the line, "Follow that taxi".

She got out at the Plaza. I thought to myself, "At least she has class." I lurked in the shadows of the lobby while she checked in.

Jack got up from the chair that he was sitting in across the lobby and joined her at the elevator. He put his arm around her waist and hugged her in a touchingly loving manner. Did she lean away? As the door, closed I could just see him turning her toward him to kiss her.

I don't think it was possible that I could be more devastated.

But the part of me that still didn't believe it was actually happening had to witness her infidelity.

More important, if they were really doing it I wanted to let them know that they were SOOOOO busted.

I realize that this is the point in the story where the aggrieved husband coolly schemes to sell the cheating slut into white slavery, or alternatively charges into the sweaty affair and shoots both of them.

But this is the real world not fantasyland. And, unfortunately, I still loved my wife to an absolute fault. That was the problem.

Standing there, I was in a state of semi-panic. I hadn't REALLY expected anything to occur, and so I didn't have a plan for what to do next.

And let me assure you that nobody thinks rationally while all of the dominos are toppling around them. But my lizard brain knew what it wanted; solid evidence.

Like most successful writers, I am a very good actor. After all, what is story telling but acting in the written word?

And if I can put on a role I can hold it together no matter how I actually feel.

Today's role was husband meeting wife at the Plaza for a little bit of afternoon delight. Hence, I walked up to the desk-clerk radiating the harried look of a guy who was caught in a meeting and hadn't gotten to the tryst in time.

I chose the one who hadn't waited on her. My aim was to keep any casual chit-chat between her and the clerk from busting my story.

I said, with unease in my voice, "My wife might have just checked in. I was supposed to join her, but I got caught by a client."

He asked for my credentials, driver's license and credit card. I handed them to him while glancing nervously at my watch, clearly projecting "She's going to kill me".

He gave me my wife's room number.

I said hastily, like it was an afterthought, "Could you burn me a keycard, I'll bet she was so mad that she didn't get me one". He looked at the monitor, saw what I knew he would see, and gave me a card. I said, "Thank you, turned and walked to the elevators."

I got off at the fourth floor and strolled down to the room. I was aware that life on this planet was about to come to a total and catastrophic end and I wanted to prolong the moment as long as possible. So I stood there for a couple of seconds just thinking about all of the good times.

Then I steeled myself and swiped the card. The green light came on. I stepped furtively inside, with I-phone out and set to record.

I needn't have bothered being subtle. They were fucking like Tarzan fucks Jane. Since he was between Millie's legs, Lover-boy wasn't looking in my direction.

The only one who could have possibly seen me was Millie. But she was so lost in the fuck that Martians could have been invading lower Manhattan and she wouldn't have noticed.

I could hear her heavy breathing, her moans, her cries of lust and the lurid slurping noises as he pounded into her. She had her fingers dug into his buns, pulling him in further.

And her beautiful legs were up in the air and churning wildly.

She was making the familiar "Ahhh-Ahhhh-Ohhhh-Ahhh-Ahhhh-Ohhhh" noises that she makes just before she comes.

Her tight round hips were gyrating in a frenzy of need. Her big beautiful tits were squashed between them in gorgeous mounds.

He was grunting loudly and plunging into her like he was trying to drive her through the headboard and she was thrusting back with her usual wild abandon.

The smell of aroused female was everywhere.

I honestly didn't react to that dreadful sight. I was suspended somewhere in the cold, rational space between total system shutdown and the direst kind of despair.

I recorded them in glorious 1080p and digital sound; right down to the thunderous climax. It wasn't that long but it seemed like an eternity.

The orgasm itself was just like the thousands of ones that she has shared with me. This one was particularly excruciating however, since this time all I was holding was a camera .

She started just yelling "AHHHH AHHHHH YESSSS COMMMMING COMMMMING!!!" Her pussy elevated aggressively to take him to the hilt and her drawn up legs spread so wide that her knees almost touched the bed.

He let out an unearthly "AAAAAUGH" and his buns began to twitch spasmodically as he pumped his seed into her.

She was making little grunting noises, as her contractions milked him of every drop.

They were just coming down from their post coital high, when I put the phone down on the nearby desk and began to clap slowly and loudly.

That hastily jerked them back to reality. They simultaneously turned their heads in my direction looking bewildered.

Rational thinking is difficult when you have just had your mind blown.

I had the phone back in front of my face and was dispassionately filming their reactions. His had a look of total astonishment, which quickly faded to absolute horror.

I said coldly, "Get out".

He was a lot younger and in much better shape than me. But he could see what was behind my eyes and it wasn't pretty. So he grabbed his stuff and rushed out into the hall, choosing to don his whitey-tighties on the other side of a closed door.

He was still sporting a hard-on. I filmed his exit.

I turned to the "faithless slut formerly known as my wife" and said one word, "WHY?" She was frozen, with shock. Then she began to cry. I made a show of turning off the video recorder and sat down in a chair.

I didn't think I could have stood up much longer anyhow, confronted as I was by the sight of those fluids draining out of her well fucked pussy. She wailed and cried. I said, "You had better get it together and answer me or this is going on YouTube right here from the room."

She started to scream. It's amazing how similar that shriek was to her finishing cry. However, the pain behind this one sounded more like a gut shot hyena.

I said, "I'm leaving!!!" and started for the door.

She said, almost incoherently, "NO WAIT!!!" and seemed to make an effort to pull herself together. The emotion playing across her face was terrible to behold.

I went back and sat down.

She was naked, so she pulled the sheet up over her big meaty boobs and flopped back on the pillow. She was still sobbing and taking deep breaths, like she was in an environment with very little oxygen. I waited some more.

Finally she seemed to get herself under control enough so that she could talk.

She said, "Tom, I am SO, SO sorry!!!!" I said matter of fact, "THAT's what they ALL say, can't you do better than that? You HAVE just ruined both of our lives you know."

She went back to wailing.

I said, truly wondering, "Are you just crying because you got caught?" She came at me out of the bed, stark naked. She started flailing at me, totally pissed-off, her luscious boobs swaying back and forth with the effort.

I put my arms up to defend myself and backed away from her onslaught. She collapsed on the floor crying.

I said, "What was that for?"

That might sound like a stupid thing to say. But in all of the stories this is the point where the guy is beating up his faithless wife, not the other way around.

It was not an action I expected. And it led me to conclude that there was a bit more to her grief than the fact that I had just caught her fucking her lover?

She wailed, "I love you, ONLY YOU!!!" I snickered and said, "Odd way of showing it".

She was starting to get herself back together. She slowly levered herself up from the floor, huge tits dangling, nipples still swollen like acorns. She walked hesitantly to the bed and sat down, pulling the sheet over her nakedness with some dignity.

I asked the classic husband question, "How long?" She sniffled and said, "Two weeks". I did the math. That was just before her sleepy revelation in the night.

I said, "WHY, why would you do this to me and the kids?"

She said, "I don't know what I was thinking. It was only twice and I thought you would never find out.

This was going to be the last time."

I said as sarcastically as I could muster, "Really??!!" "Seriously??!!" I hoped that my doubts about THAT pronouncement showed through in my voice.