A Capital Affair Ch. 01

It was difficult to locate Putzie because, after high school, he changed his name to, get this, George McDonald. I called for an appointment and, fortunately, "George" could see me over the lunch hour. I didn't want Barry to know what I was up to. As I entered his office with our pre-nup in hand, he greeted me with a smile. I wondered whether that smile represented the financial ruin of his former due to representing their spouses.

"I see you're still as beautiful as ever, Regina. To what do I owe this pleasure after all these years?"

"I'm so glad you could see me on such short notice, uh, George. How has life been treating you since high school?"

"I owe you a lot. If wasn't for you, I'd be so lonely now. But enough about me. If you need a lawyer so urgently, you must have a big problem."

"It's my husband, Barry. I found evidence on his phone that he's been cheating on me. I also suspect that he did our nanny as well while I was on a business trip. So, I need a lawyer to serve divorce papers on him. I brought our pre-nuptial agreement for you to go over."

George took the pre-nup and mumbled to himself for a few minutes before peering over his half-rims. "You should have come to me before you ever signed this, Regina. This pre-nup is only good in the case of an uncontested divorce. It's useless if the divorce is contested and, if I know Barry Halevy, he will litigate any divorce action. He has a reputation in the legal community as a dirty fighter."

I had to interrupt. "What do you mean? The pre-nup clearly says I get a good settlement and custody of the children."

"You married quite a sharp lawyer. Barry included quite a few weasel clauses that effectively nullify any of your rights under this agreement if he decides to contest your action. To quote the Tanach, 'What the whereas giveth, the notwithstanding taketh away.' A contested divorce could leave you with nothing but a big legal bill."

"What can I do, George? I can't stay married to a cheat just so I can raise my children myself. Don't we have any alternatives in this case?"

"To enforce the terms of your pre-nup, we need to turn this into an amicably negotiated divorce by demonstrating adultery on Barry's part. There are two possibilities. The first possibility is that we get your nanny to testify that she had sex with Barry or at least that he made an indecent proposal to her. I doubt that will happen because of Canada's rules for temporary foreign workers. Foreign nannies are always afraid that they'll be sent back to where they came from tout de suite if they make any trouble for the family they work for.

The second possibility is for you hire a private investigator to prove that he's cheating with this other woman. I can recommend a guy that my firm has used in the past. If you want, we'll put his fees on our bill for your convenience. We might be able to force Barry to negotiate a good settlement if we can get better evidence to take to court than your word that you saw something on his telephone."

I agreed, paid a retainer to George's secretary and left with good feelings that there was a solution to my problems after all. Every time during the following week that Barry called to say he was working late or I couldn't reach him at lunch, I told the investigators so they could catch him in the act. My happiness crashed when George telephoned me that Barry was more cunning than he thought. The private investigator didn't come up with anything after a week of surveillance. He estimated that it might take at least another month to get what we needed. George concluded:

"Without some hard evidence, like Barry's phone, we'll never get a negotiated settlement."

Not being able to afford an investigator's fees for who knows how many months, I told George to put things on hold. He said he understood and perhaps something would turn up if we just waited. In the meantime, he would send his bill to my office. His parting advice to me was that, until we had good evidence, I shouldn't go cheating myself or do anything that would give Barry ammunition to sue for divorce in return. I hung up, feeling like a trapped animal. By the time I got home that evening, I was more depressed than before I went to see George.

My depression deepened when Barry called home that he had to work late (again) and not to wait up for him. Once Michelle and Ethan were off to bed, I decided to have a long soak in the bathtub to lighten my mood. I lit candles around the bathtub and poured a large glass of my favourite white wine. It didn't work. Candles, wine and a soak are the method I use to relax before sex. Instead, my soak just reminded me that I hadn't had an orgasm for two months. I started to cry. Crying didn't help at all; it just made me feel more worthless and abandoned than ever. That's when this completely sinful thought entered my head:

"Why sit here miserable and frustrated because Barry isn't fucking you properly? Two can play the same game. Go and have some fun with an affair of your own. That will make the son-of-a-bitch sorry he treated you so badly."

Or words to that effect. Jews tend to be skeptical about the existence of the Devil but can you think of any other explanation for my thoughts going off in an evil direction? Cheating went against both my morality and my lawyer's advice. Still, Barry had to pay for wrecking my life and for not shtupping me properly. I wanted revenge by doing to him what he was doing to me. Yes, I know revenge fucking is always wrong. God says so in the Tanach: "Vengeance and payback are mine." You can look that up if you want.

Probably I should have dismissed the evil thought as George had advised but I couldn't. I began to think about what I could offer a guy if I went on the market again. I was an educated woman with a good career in an expanding company. I had two wonderful children who still loved me and I was a good mother to them in return. On paper, I had a great resumé but what could I offer a guy physically?

I got out of the tub, dried myself and looked over my physical assets in the mirror. I liked what I saw. I'm 165 cm. tall, average height for a Canadian woman but a little taller than most Jewish women. Untying my hair and letting it fall to my shoulders, I checked my facial features. My jet-black black hair, full lips and Semitic nose give me an exotic look. I may not have a movie star beauty, just very interesting and pleasing to look at.

I don't want to brag about my bubbies but they're outstanding, firm, and high on my chest. When Barry takes me to his firm's office parties, I always catch the senior partners peeking down my dress. Of course, I don't try and hide my cleavage. When you've got it, flaunt it, a word of our people that my father passed on to me. I felt my breasts to assure that they were still firm despite having breast-fed two kids. Not one little bit of sag.

I didn't have any handles on my hips but my tummy showed a bit of weight. There was a stretch mark or two on my abdomen. A bit of body makeup would take care of that. My tuches was a little too prominent, probably due to spending all my working life sitting in an office. That shouldn't be a problem because KimK and JLo popularized big bums but Barry seemed to think otherwise. When I innocently asked him if my tuches was too fat, he said "yes". When I got annoyed and said that women ask that question because they want to be lied to, Barry smugly said that a lawyer is always under oath and he had to tell the truth at all times. Isn't that hypocritical? I'm sure that he hasn't always been 100% truthful in court and cheating on me certainly wasn't telling the truth.

Sorry, had to get that off my chest. I noticed that my bush hid my pussy lips. What was the current sexual fashion, I wondered? I sensed that I needed some kind of trim, but well short of a full Brazilian. I couldn't wax my bush completely or Barry might guess what I was up to. Overall, I still looked very desirable. All I needed to do was find the right man to fuck me.

I surfed the big name hook-up sites but I wasn't sure about any of the guys were what I wanted. I really don't like it rough and being dominated by someone goes against my feminist ideals of equality. Beating me to orgasm isn't my idea of a good time. I like to be fondled and caressed, made love to ever so slowly and gently, working me up to a climax when coitus finally takes place. Barry might be a cheat but he never treated me roughly in bed.

If the things that happen during BDSM took place in any other context, the courts would call term it sexual abuse. I just can't understand how anyone can enjoy pain and humiliation. If I want a good beating, I can think of at least five seedy bars in Toronto where I could get beaten up for free and without getting involved sexually. As for humiliation, I could get all I need by going back to work for Crumleigh's.

So, I never registered for those sites. I desperately wanted sex but not at the cost of doing it with the wrong man. Then, there were the security problems associated with the hook-up sites. Would you want your children to find out through the Net that their mother was on the make? Ultimately, Nerdstorm's led me to my lover. The next store they were opening would be in Ottawa. Ottawa is a bilingual city and marketing discovered that Francophone women were largely ignored by Ottawa retailers. Nerdstorm's wanted to build on its success in Montreal and decided to locate in a shopping centre in the east end of Ottawa. Given my previous success in Montreal, I was the obvious choice to supervise the Ottawa store opening.

I didn't know much about Ottawa so I checked out the hook-up sites in that city. That was how I found Ottawa Discrete Encounters. It seemed secure so I signed up using the pseudonym Erica. The website had a plethora of "I'll do anything you like" losers but I plowed through all the listings anyway. Then I found Damien. His profile stated he was from Africa, in his mid-fifties and, best of all, he wasn't looking for a woman to flog. The interracial thing certainly intrigued me because Barry was always contemptuous of "the shvartzes". For revenge fucking purposes, Damien would be perfect to humiliate him. My only concern was Damien's age. A fifty plus man was a little on the old side for me.

I pondered whether to respond to Damien or not for a few days and, finally, I decided to go for it. I sent Damien a message asking if we could meet when I went to Ottawa next month. I didn't really expect to get an answer, given how popular black guys are with Canadian women, but he replied right away and he had lots of questions about my situation. Truth always worked for me in the past so I decided to tell Damien exactly who I was and what I wanted. I was a married woman with two children but my marriage was at an end. I needed to get on with my life and meet other people.

We messaged back and forth. Damien was vague about himself at the beginning but he opened up about himself soon enough. He worked for the embassy of Xxxxxxx, had two adult children attending the University of Xxxxxxx and he was a widower. He was educated, but I could have guessed that from the way his messages were composed. I researched all the information on Xxxxxxx I could find. I was impressed by what I read. Xxxxxxx had prospered in the post-colonial era due to one of the most vibrant democracies in Africa. Women in Xxxxxxxian society participated in politics and the workplace on an equal footing with men. In fact, some anthropologists commented on how well the men of Xxxxxxx treated their women.

That appealed to my feminist ideals. Damien was probably the man I was looking for to have an affair. I was certainly intrigued about him but he wouldn't send me a photo. He assured me that he wasn't ugly. His explanation was that I could see for myself if we decided to meet. I accepted his explanation since I told him the truth about myself. I made a date to meet him in the restaurant of my hotel in Ottawa. If we met in public, I could still back out if I was wrong about him.

We set Wednesday of my first week in Ottawa as the day we would meet. Some unforeseen problems meant that I finished work a little later that day than I expected. My hotel was at the other end of a mall from Nerdstorm's new store, so I stopped at a drugstore to pick up a box of condoms. I took a bath as soon as I got to my room so I would be as fresh as possible for my date. I took care of my few stretch marks with some blemish cover. Then, I dressed up in a nice shift that wouldn't show off any little body bulges. When I finished putting on my facial makeup and a touch of scent, I still had 20 minutes until I would be fashionably late enough to meet Damien. I became nervous about what I was about to do so I took a tranquilizer. That helped plus I went over all the exit ramps I could take this evening if something went wrong.

The doors the elevator opened to the lobby and I noticed a heavyset black man in shades standing near the restaurant entrance and another black man, just as creepy looking by the door of the hotel. He looked like a dangerous thug, not at all as I had pictured him in my mind. I considered backing out then and there but I went up to him anyway and asked, "Are you Damien?" He was taken aback as if I startled him, replying with a curt "No" and a shake of his head. I was about to approach the other creepy dude but the first black man continued "His name isn't Damien either."

I was flustered and embarrassed by the creepy dude's behaviour so I retreated into the restaurant. There was one black man in a private booth at the back. Damien stood up as I got closer. I noticed he was tall but not basketball material. His head had a few grey hairs but, other than that, he didn't look his age. Best of all, he told the truth about his good looks. He offered me a hand to as I stepped up into the booth.

"You must be Erica. I'm Damien. I'm so happy we can finally meet."

The dinner went well. The food was forgettable generic Canadian hotel food but the conversation was anything but generic. Damien had a knack for drawing me out. But our conversation wasn't just all about me. We talked about our kids. Despite the distance between Canada and Xxxxxxx , it seems that raising children is the same job in either country. Damien could express his thoughts and emotions in such a way that, by the time our dinner was finished, it felt like my fiftieth date with Damien, not our first. We never actually talked about sex so I had to politely inform him that I wanted him. Under the pretense of fumbling in my purse for my share of the meal, I located my second security card.

"You'll need this to take the elevator to my room. It's room yyyy. Wait here fifteen minutes so it doesn't look as if we're leaving for a liaison. Don't knock, just enter."

When I got back up to my room, I had to pee so badly that I just made it to the toilet in time. I hiked up my dress and dropped my panties. It felt so good to relieve myself that I started to relax. When I wiped myself, I got a surprise. My clitoris was already engorged and poking through my outer labia. Damien got me horny just by being across the dinner table, something that once happened talking to with Barry but not for the last few years of our marriage. Oh yes, Barry. I brought along the lubricant I purchased to avoid the dry humping that had become the norm for us. Tonight, I was absolutely wet but I did a lube job anyway just to be sure everything would go smoothly tonight.

I tossed my panties into my luggage and fished the condoms out of my purse, placing them on the night table beside the bed. I got undressed and put on a sexy camisole Barry bought for my birthday years ago. I hadn't used it much because I prefer my sex to be spontaneous rather than well planned. As I put on my camisole, the delicious irony of using Barry's gift to cuckold him washed over me and made me even more excited. I put on the lowest light I could find in my room so Damien wouldn't spot all my body defects. Finally, I turned down the bed covers and assumed a sexy pose.

I heard a soft knock on my door. The lock clicked, the door opened and I could see Damien silhouetted in the doorway, looking me over. Damien must have liked what he saw because there was a flash of white teeth in the dim light. Dammit, I was still sexually appealing, or at least I looked good to men of his age. I whispered, "Damien, put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door and just get undressed. I'm waiting for you."

Damien folded his suit and carefully hung it up beside my dress. I like that in a man, careful about his appearance in public. Besides, it would have been obvious what we had been up to if he left the hotel with his clothes all rumpled. He had his back to me so I couldn't see his junk. I would know the truth soon enough. I started trembling in anticipation as he stripped down, first his shoes and socks, then his tie and shirt and finally his pants. When he dropped his drawers, I saw it for the first time. It was huge and uncircumcised. I couldn't stop myself from talking like a teenager, not a thirty-plus mother.

"My God, you're big. I've never seen one that's... like that ... Oh my God."

I had just violated the third commandment with Damien, but he just smiled. Probably he heard what I said from all the Canadian women he had been with. On the other hand, hadn't he said over dinner that, since his wife passed away, he hadn't had a woman? If that was true, I must be his first Canadian woman and his first woman in three years. Given that Barry lied to me, why not Damien? I just didn't sense any dissembling when we were having dinner.

When Damien got into bed beside me, I found out that he hadn't told a lie. His foreplay was all wrong for me. His hands fumbled over my camisole and he squeezed my bubbies far too roughly with his hands. I was losing the mood rapidly. If this encounter wasn't to turn into a disaster, I had to do something and fast.

But first, let me digress. I've always wondered why some women think they can lie quietly flat on their back during sex and their man is supposed to know what to deliver. Maybe they don't like sex, or they're demanding bitches, or they diligently follow Hillel's golden rule (What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow man) or all of the above. Jesus stated his golden rule the other way around (Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them). When sex was right between Barry and me, I loved being audible and giving him feedback on what I wanted him to do to me. Hillel works for me during the day but when I get in the sack with Barry, Jesus is the one who provides my guidance.

Following Jesus' advice, I took Damien's hands in mine and whispered: "I need you tonight in a certain way, Damien. I need you so much, baby. Let me show you what I want." Then I kissed him on the lips and then he embraced me in return. He gave me a few light kisses in return so I decided to push the envelope and opened my mouth. My tongue slid along his lips and he instinctually let it slip in. Deep kissing seemed to unloose his inner man. His arms went around me, around my waist and up my back under my camisole.

I guided his hands under my camisole to my bubbies and showed him how to gently caress them. Then I took his fingers to demonstrate the right amount of pressure on my nipples. I guided his hands over each and every erogenous zone on my body, encouraging him to go slowly and caressing his body the way I wanted to be touched in return. Likely I was more aggressive than he was might want in a woman but how else could I apply the Golden Rule in that situation? To tell the truth, I found it more exciting than if Damien had come to me the first time as suave and experienced. I was building a lover to my own specifications, as if I were an older woman introducing a young male for the first time to the art of love.