A Simple Case of Infidelity

I followed her inside. Once inside I turned to the kids. I dropped two $20.00 on Richard, "You and Victoria disappear for a few hours."

He took the money, grinned, and yanked at his sister, "Come on." That pissed me off a little; we'd spent a ton of money and countless hours getting her back on her feet again. I didn't feel like watching big brother doing that. I didn't say anything though. I just wanted them out of the house.

Leslie came back downstairs wearing a long flannel nighty and a pair of fuzzy slippers. "So, she said, "what's up?"

I told her, "Sit down. I've got something to show you," I took out the flash drive I had from the video and pushed it in my lap top. I hadn't checked it yet, but I knew what was there. I turned the thing on. Guess what, nothing was there. 'Damn it,' I thought, 'the guy at Radio Shack said...' Shit I knew I should have bought the newer more expensive device.

Leslie sat back comfortably sipping her coffee, "Any time."

I kept fiddling with the thing, but nothing was happening. Shit, I got the audio thing out, and turned that on. I didn't hear anything. I looked back at my wife. Damn! She knew! I never saw such a shit eating grin!

She smiled, "Well?"

"God damn it Leslie you know what I had on this!"

She gave me that sweet innocent look she's always been so good at. She fluttered her eye lashes and cooed, "No honey pie I really don't."

"Yes you do," I said, "I know where you've been today. I know what you've doing!"

She kept smiling. She did a little snap with her head that made her hair flip out and away from her face. She put her left index finger to her lips. Her tongue delicately caressed the tip of her finger. Eyelids lazily drooping she whispered, "You do? I can't imagine..."

I was so pissed off. I interrupted her. "Look you were down in Martinsburg with some old boyfriend. You and he were shacked up in a Motel Six. I know what you did! And where'd you get that dress?"

I didn't break through, not for a second. I was spitting into the wind. She sat there, all smiles, smug, confident, too confident.

She crooned, "Honey where'd you get an idea like that. I just went for a drive. I like driving my 'new prior owned' Avalon. I know it's winter, but I enjoy the scenery. You know what I like best? I like seeing through the dead and barren trees. I get to see all the old abandoned homes and the ramshackle shacks where the poor farmers live. I think about the peoples' lives that might have been changed in some of those old crumbling down places. It stirs my imagination. I think about people like Loretta Lynn and places like Butcher's Holler. I see those rusty old pick-up trucks on cinder blocks and it makes me nostalgic about what it must have been like to live in 'Old Appalachia'. I mean like 'The Walton's and John Boy, and stills, and corn liquor, and dirty baseball caps, and patched and ragged overalls, and faded old house dresses. Plus, I went over to Lavalle, then on to Cumberland. You know Richard's thinking about Frostburg. Gosh; it's a pretty good public college. And the dress; I bought that for work. It was so pretty I thought I'd wear it. Actually I wanted to make sure it fit properly so I could wear it if we went out this weekend."

Who was she kidding? I never heard such bullshit! I knew damn well where she went and what she'd been doing. She knew too. She knew I knew. I bet her and that guy discovered my surveillance stuff. Yeah, they messed it up. Smart assed bitch!

Her voice sounded syrupy, but it reeked of venom and selfish superiority. These weren't the words of the woman I'd married. They were somebody else's words. They belonged to another person; a person I didn't know.

I was positively apoplectic, "I can't believe you think I'd believe this bullshit you're tossing. I saw. I saw you go in that room! I saw you two come out. Leslie you're cheating on me. You broke our marriage vows. You're an adulterous bitch! Oh Christ! I give up. I saw the bastard! I can't compete with somebody like that."

Leslie was just sitting, smiling, sipping her coffee, her little finger sticking out; she was playing the dainty lady. She was her mother; a self-righteous over-weaning under-weight old cow who lived in a vine wrapped old mansion in Baltimore with an over-bearing stuffed shirt husband. What had happened to my wife? Where had she gone? Thanksgiving had been so wonderful, warm, sharing, so familial. Now...this?

She sweetly admonished, her voice had the lyrical quality, the gently trained purr of a cat playing with a helpless mouse, "Francis, Francis, Francis you're overtired. You're overworked. You're imagining things,"

She got up and sexually, one hip at a time, sidled, no slithered, toward me. She put her hands on the collar of my shirt. She caressed my neck under my chin and around my ears. She let them drift slowly, oh so slowly, down to my crotch. I heard my zipper as she leisurely pulled it lower and lower. Her finger tips were inside my pants, they found the flap that led inside my boxers to my Johnson, her fingers lightly brushed the head of my flaccid penis. The traitorous little bastard started to respond.

I said, "Leslie you..."

She closed her lips on my mouth, "Mm you taste good." She very deliberately allowed herself to drift down between my legs.

I looked down and watched.

Leslie had her fingers on my rapidly engorging phallus. Keeping her face toward my dick; with her eyes she peered up at me. She had that innocent beseeching look one only sees on porn sites when the whore pretends to be some guileless unsullied virgin about to surrender herself.

Looking at me, fingers on my shaft, she opened her mouth and licked me. 'Oh God, Oh Jesus', I thought, 'this is so unfucking fair!' She started sliding her tongue up and down the shaft of my rigid, steel hard manhood. Another few seconds of this and I'd be spewing semen all over the place. I recognized that smile, that lascivious look; that was exactly what she wanted. I knew the dialogue; she'd said it before, I'd heard it a thousand times.

"Oh," she spooned, "my little Smokey's hot little hose is so full of his aluminum oxide, and mama's fires are burning so hot."

Leslie, with one hand holding my rigid rod, she used her other hand to pull her flannel up and away revealing her nearly hairless camel toe. Leaning back, me standing helplessly beside her, she reached down to her hugely engorged labial crease and used her long polished fingernails to stroke and caress her sacred woman's canyon. The white polish on her exquisitely long nails served only to further focus my attention of the moisture seeping out between that most revered, most consecrated gorge. Almost inaudibly she murmured, "Come put out Leslie's hot fire my great big wonderful man."

Oh for the love of god I almost...but then I had a second of lucidity! I leaped back, "No!"

Leslie was completely taken aback, "Francis!"

"No I won't do it. You can't make me. I'm not going down there. I won't put my face down there. You can't force me to go down there and suck out some other man's filthy semen. I won't! I tell you I won't!"

Oh for heaven's sake, another two seconds and I'd have been there. I'd have been down there slurping up some other man's leavings! I turned and ran for the door. I grabbed my keys and made a mad dash for my jeep. Oh Jesus she almost had me!

Leslie was right behind me. I heard her crying out, "Francis no, come back. You're wrong. I...cleaned..."

I was in my jeep and halfway down the drive. I needed to get out of there. I needed to cool off. I fucking needed to go someplace and jerk off!

Hauling ass for all I was worth I drove back deep in the forest. Jumped from my jeep and ran to a nearby blind. Got way back inside and gave myself a thoroughly 'Dishonorable Discharge.' Then I did it again.

Much of our married lives had been filled with some pretty damn unusual things. It's been Leslie, not me. When we were first married I couldn't begin to say how many times I'd come home; exhausted, totally wiped, and she'd be lying in wait. She'd ambush me. If people only knew back then. Oh the things. Leslie had her little 'toy box'; it was filled with things like blindfolds, handcuffs, collars, leg irons. They weren't for her; oh no, they were for me! Inwardly I hated it; outwardly I played along. People would never believe the humiliating degrading things she put me through.

I'd come home tired, completely worn out. The kids were young and usually in bed. I'd slip in the door. I always tried to be on guard; it never mattered. It was like an old Peter Sellers movie I'd seen once on the late show. She sneak up, she'd tackle me. Before I knew it I'd be on my back, handcuffed under the table or on the sofa. She'd make me eat her out. Sometimes she'd covered herself in whipped cream, sometimes chocolate, once powdered sugar. She wouldn't let me up until she was thoroughly cleaned out and totally exhausted. Oh God; sometimes it would go on for hours.

After the first few years I knew I had to put a stop to it. One afternoon she came home; she was still working at school, part-time. She went to find her 'treasure chest', that's what she called it. She came out and commented, "Honey, I can't find my things."

I told her, "Yeah, I threw them out." She went ballistic, she was totally off the wall. She hollered and yelled. She started to throw things. She must have called me forty-seven different kinds of mother-fucker! She went after me.

Leslie's has always been a strong girl; almost as strong as me. Add to that the fact she didn't care how hard she hit, or how hard she threw things, while I was careful not to get too rough, she always had the advantage. That afternoon I cared but didn't care; I had to stand up for myself.

Well she came at me fists a flying. She corked me a good one right on the left eye; Leslie's left handed. I grabbed her, threw her on the old couch we had back then, and like totally ripped all her clothes off. I got her! I got her hands over her head and used her torn panties to tie them together. God did she cuss and scream. I got her and I rolled her over. I thought today's the day; today's the day I finally assert myself. I had her on her stomach. She was struggling, trying to get up, but managed only to reach her knees. I wasn't kidding around, not anymore. I jammed. I mean I rammed it in! Guess what!

I missed. That's right I missed her puss and I nailed her right in the ass. Thank God she'd already taken a shit or we'd have a fudge bar. Wow she was free and clear, free and clear and tight! It was electrifying! I'd never experienced anything like it.

At first she fought and kicked and screamed and cried, but I was on top. I was in control. Jesus, two, three times in and she was right with me. It was the most exciting, the most exhilarating the most unbelievable experience of my life, and guess what? It was for her too.

After that the 'toy box' became ancient history. We had a new game. I'd get home from work and Leslie would be there with her enema bag or a couple suppositories. That's a fetish I guess we have, 'anal' is a better word. We're into 'clean.' Neither of us wanted a lot of feces interfering with our love lives. A clean ass is a happy ass I guess. So we added anal to our repertoire of oral and traditional activities, and the chains and cuffs just fell off the horizon.

There've been times I'd be downstairs reading or watching TV. The kids would be in bed or out someplace for an all-nighter and Leslie would slip downstairs wearing nothing but a flannel shirt. She'd get on her hands and knees and crawl in my direction. She get in front, back around and start making noises. She say, "Ruff, Ruff," that was always my signal; time to play 'Kennel Club'.

She even bought a dog collar and a leash; not for me, for her. Sometimes I had to walk her around the living room like she was a real dog. She'd pant, and squirm around till she found my crotch; then she'd sniff me up until I pulled my pants down. After that all bets were off.

So there I sat in my jeep reflecting on my wife, our happier times, our exciting times, and how she thrown it all away, and she wouldn't even admit it. She wouldn't admit anything even though she knew I had her dead to rights. I'd caught her in action, in 'cold blood'. What was I ever going to do?

~~v~~

I cleaned up. I had goo all over my shirt. I took it off, and wiped up what I could. Then I took a long drive. The only thing I could think of was to go back home and try to work things out. I had to get her to admit to what she's done. If I accomplished that then maybe we could move on. My guess was she'd be leaving me one day soon. As I drove around I tried to figure up just what we owned; it wasn't much. Two pick-up trucks, two cars, her newer Avalon, my old jeep. We had some furniture, my 403B, maybe $15,000.00 in the bank, an empty lot on a country road where we thought we might build something of our own someday, and I guess that was about it. Everything else, what there was of it, was tied up in the kids. We didn't live in a 'no-fault' state. I found that out from a friend; but a divorce still could be pretty painless, it just took longer.

Did I want a divorce? I guess I was supposed to. I mean if I was a man wasn't I supposed to kick the bitch to the curb? I wondered, how could I kick her to the curb if she wouldn't even admit to be deserving of being kicked? I had to find a way to wangle a confession out of her; that was it, get a confession and well...do what I had to do. I gathered my thoughts and my nerve and drove on back home.

Back home, when I got there, the kids were in the living room. Leslie was back in her 'private' place. The bulk of the first floor was given over to the family, but Leslie and I each had our own little cubby holes. They were both small, measuring 10'x10' each. Leslie used hers for sewing and such. Mine was filled with junk, mostly stuffed animals and extra deer heads, things I'd killed.

Richard saw me first, "Dad, mom's in a bad way. Did you two have a fight?"

"Not exactly a fight Richard. We're trying to work what through your mom's been up to the last few weeks. She just won't come clean."

Victoria looked at me reprovingly, "You weren't mean to her."

"No honey, but both of you told me how you suspected something." Amazingly I watched the two of them as they looked back and forth at each other.

Richard spoke up first, "I never said anything."

Victoria piped in, "Me neither, mom's been fine, at least until you..."

'What the...,' I thought, I said, "Hey the two of you both told me your mom was up to something." I watched them; 'Oh shit,' I thought, 'she's gotten to them.' How could she have done that so fast? I added, "You two told me your mom was seeing someone behind my back."

Victoria glared at me, "Mom? You crazy?"

Richard added, "Dad you better get your head on straight. Mom's in there, and she thinks you're going to leave us."

'Us,' I thought, he said, 'us.' The bitch has struck again! Now they're all against me. Jesus H. Christ! I smiled, "I better go see your mom," I went back to her sewing niche.

When I went in I saw her; she was sitting in an old rocker her mom had given us a while back. It was supposed to be an antique. She was looking out the window at the foliage. She was just rocking back and forth. I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder, "You want to tell me now?"

She looked up; oh the phony sincerity, the innocent beguiling smile, the soft cheeked sweet flash of too large eyes on a beautiful heart shaped face, hooped earrings seductively dancing beneath delicate lobes, "I'm sorry. I wish you'd tell me what I did."

I knelt beside her, "Honey you know what you did. I saw you. You've been having an affair."

She broke into tears, "Oh Francis. How could you say that? You know I love you. I could never do that."

Angrily I replied, "Look damn it. I know what I saw."

She took a kerchief, she blew her nose, she wiped her eyes, "It couldn't have been me. It had to have been someone else."

"Leslie," I said, "Why don't you just admit it. Admit it and we'll go from there."

She sneezed into her kerchief and gave me another one of her soulful looks, "You're doing this just to hurt me. You want to leave me. It's that...it's that Venica isn't it?"

"Damn Leslie no it isn't Venica. I never..."

"It's someone else then isn't? Who is it Francis. I'll try...I'll try to understand. If you need this I won't try to stop you. I understand. Men sometimes..."

"Leslie don't try to turn this around. You're the one, not me..." She got up and ran from the room. I heard her as she cried all the way upstairs to our bedroom. I followed her out. Richard and Victoria were waiting for me.

Victoria was first, "Mom loves you dad. I don't know how you could do this to her, to us."

Richard followed, "You always told me a man's duty was to his family. Why're you doing this?"

I held up my hands, "I'm not doing anything. It's your mother..."

Both of my kids got up and stood facing me. Somehow she'd persuaded them to think it was me and not her.

I stopped and stood stark still. I looked squarely and intently at my kids. I got it. The looks on their faces told it all. Mom had certainly been trying to maneuver them, but I saw the truth. They knew their mom had been 'bad'; I could sense it, but they wanted to keep the family. They were afraid of a break up. I couldn't blame them; we'd all seen what it had done to other families. My kids were afraid, and they wanted me to find a way to fix things. Damn, the weight of her infidelity was falling on my shoulders.

~~v~~

The next few weeks were a quiet cold war. Leslie avoided me like the plague. My kids refused to talk to me when their mom was around. Dinner times were the worst. Leslie fixed all my favorite foods, but she never spoke, and if she made any movement to communicate it was only with Richard and Victoria.

If that was all I suppose time would have healed things, or at least put a band aid on my anger, but that wasn't all that happened. Leslie had more moves than a checkerboard.

Somehow our marital tensions leaked out. All our neighbors, my colleagues at work, even my supervisor had gotten on the Leslie bandwagon. I'd become the mean son-of-a-bitch guilty of mental cruelty, the monster trying to break up a happy home, the two timing bastard who wouldn't stop till he got what he wanted. Damn it! It hadn't been me!

Leslie was at her finest. She was a beautiful woman anyway; from the day of our sewing room altercation forward she pulled out all the stops.

I suppose every man has his foibles, his secret fetishes. I always thought Leslie looked extra pretty when she all pert and sassy. I kind of liked the little school girl, high spirited jaunty, vivacious coed. Well Leslie poured it on. Saddle shoes, white socks, knee highs, pretty plaid miniskirts, snappy little blouses, peter pan collars, brushed woolen sweaters buttoned only at the top. Christ she even wore a Virgin Pin sometimes.

Hair? Hair! Ponytails, pig tails, barrettes, damn it she even cut her hair in front so she had bangs!

And makeup; gone was the sultry Venus. Suddenly it was soft eye shadow, pale pink lipstick with hints of lip-gloss, a pinch of pink on the cheeks. She even affected a lighter, higher pitch to her voice.

My middle aged forty-one year old wife had turned into every high school boy's idea of a wet dream! It wasn't funny either. I dare not go near her, but she came near me. She'd get up real close at dinner time, later in the evening when we watched TV she'd brush up against me, she played 'booby rub.' I'd be watching TV and she'd bring me a plate of candy. She'd lean over so I had to see her breasts. She'd sort of wiggle waggle those magnificent orbs back and forth in front of me. She'd take a candy and put it in her mouth; pucker up those gorgeous lips, bat those big round eyes all innocent and pretty, and then she'd prance around me, "Want a candy?" I spent many a sleepless night on the sofa trying to keep from jerking off. Hey, I was a middle aged man. Middle aged men weren't supposed to have to whack off! God I hated her!