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Tangled Web

By: Aussie Bard



My thanks to "Marie-Terese" for her assistance with the woman's point of view and to Willy B for his patience in editing. 

*

"Dianne, are you and your husband having problems?"

The question came out of the blue and, for a moment, I was unsure how to respond.

"What do you mean problems? I guess that we have the normal problems all married couples have. Why?"

My co-worker looked away, concentrating on her hands while she made up her mind whether to continue or not. The decision made she went on.

"Look I don't know how to tell you this; you know that my hubby took me away last weekend for our anniversary. Well I'm sure I saw your husband in the same hotel and he was staying there with another woman."

"What! Are you sure? It couldn't have been, he would never do anything like that to me. You must be mistaken."

"Well I could be I suppose, but it sure looked like him. If it wasn't him he must have an identical double. We saw them both, all lovey dovey, a few times up close and it sure looked like your husband."

Mark had been away last weekend, a fishing trip with his buddies, so he had said. Now it seems that he had been fishing for a bit on the side and it sure looked like he had caught one. 

I wanted to cry, scream and rip his throat out, all at the same time. How could he do this to me? What was wrong with him that he was willing to throw away seven years with me for a roll in the sack with some whore?

I mumbled my thanks to Jane and returned to my office slumping into the overstuffed chair I had for visitors. Searching my mind for signs that he had been up to no good, I couldn't pinpoint anything. I had heard about the usual signs such as being over attentive and extra loving, but that wasn't Mark. He had been his normal self, caring and helpful. Was that his game? Was he aware of these signs and took care not to show them. 

I was totally confused, no it couldn't be my Mark, Jane was right, it had to be someone who looked like him. Still, I had those nagging doubts, what if it was him? How could I be sure? If I asked him he would only deny it. If he was having an affair he would have warned his buddies to cover for him, so there would be no joy there.

Thinking back to Sunday night when he got back, I tried to remember anything that was suspicious. He had come in kissed me on the cheek, grabbed a beer and started to tell me about his weekend. Nothing unusual about that. 

He had complained that the fish hadn't been biting. The only ones they caught were under size and had to be thrown back. Now that was unusual, Mark never failed to catch a fish. He is an excellent fisherman and he knows that river like the back of his hand. He has fished it man and boy since his father put his first fishing rod into his hand when he was six. 

Still he might be telling the truth. How could I find out?

I decided to ring one of his friend's wives about the upcoming school fete and during the discussion I would ask about the fish he had caught. Yes that's what I'd do.

The phone almost rang out before Emily answered, just as I was about to hang up.

"Hi Emily? Dianne Andrews, how are you?"

The first part of our conversation was the normal things, kids, school, and sales at the mall. Not wanting to appear too anxious I let this drag on for twenty minutes before I got to the part that I had really called her for. I couldn't just come straight out and ask her, that would just make her suspicious and it would get back to Mark via her husband.

"Emily, do you have any good recipes for trout? I'm getting a little tired of the usual ways like baking and grilling and I wanted something a little more exotic. How did you cook the fish Dave brought home on Sunday?"

I waited with bated breath while Emily yelled at her kids to be quiet, telling them she was on the phone.

"Sorry Dianne. Fish recipes hmm!! Well Dave isn't very adventurous when it comes to food so I stick to the tried and true recipes. The fish he caught last weekend are still in the freezer I hadn't planned on cooking them until later in the week or I might do them on the barbeque at the weekend."

As she continued my mind drifted off in a different direction. The bastard had lied to me, the others had caught fish but he hadn't. Why? Because he hadn't been fishing he had been out fucking some trollop. Well when I got finished with him his bait wouldn't be worth much.

"Dianne? Dianne? Are you still there?"

Emily's urgent call brought me back to the present and I answered her through the tears that had started to fall.

"Yes I'm here. I'm sorry the washing machine is playing up, I have to run. I'll call you later. Thanks for the tips. Bye."

My first instinct was to confront him, but the more I thought about it the more I realized I had no real proof. He'd lie his way out of it and be on his guard. I needed more evidence.

That night Mark seemed withdrawn as we sat and ate dinner. He complimented me for an excellent meal but seemed to have no life in him. When I tried to talk, he answered in single sentences and it was obvious that he had other things on his mind. I hoped it was guilt and it was ripping him apart inside, the way it was me.

Later we sat and watched television for a while before he made a move.

"I'm off to bed. I'm not feeling the best and I think I'll get an early night. Are you coming up now?"

:No. I think I'll watch a little more of this show. The girls at work say it is well worth watching so I thought I'd give it a go. I'll be up later. Goodnight."

Mark leaned over to kiss me but I turned my head and his lips landed on my cheek. His surprised look was enough warning that I had to come up with something quick.

"Sorry honey, I don't want to catch what you have. I can't afford to get sick right now with the Michael account happening. Sweet dreams."

My imagination was working overtime. There was no way I was going to kiss him after he had cheated on me. I knew how much Mark loved to eat my pussy; he'd do it for hours. I could see, in my minds eye, him doing the same to his lover. The very thought made me want to vomit.

I sat through a trashy sit com as I waited for him to go to sleep. Finally after an hour I tiptoed up to our room and quietly looked in on him. 

His six foot two frame only just fitted into our queen sized bed and his head sat on the rumpled pillow, pushed almost up to the headboard. His hair was a wet mass and stuck to his head and face like a blond skull cap. He had been sweating heavily and his body glistened with his sweat. His sleep must have been restless as the sheets lay in a tangled pile on his side of the bed. 

Mark was usually a quiet sleeper and I wondered if his disturbed sleep was due to his guilty conscience or was he dreaming of her. Damn him!!!

Mark always slept in the nude, and tonight was no different. Laying on his back his body was open fully to my gaze and I looked at him in a new light. I loved this man with all my heart and now I might lose him. Was that what I wanted? Maybe it was a one time affair and he'd never cheat again. Did I really want to go through with my plan? I had to, I had to know. No matter how painful it might be or what the consequences were I had to find out. 

Mark was my first true love and the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The man I wanted to father my children. How could he put all that at risk?

Quietly I picked up his wallet from the bedside table and quickly checked it for evidence. What I expected to find was an address, phone number or even some condoms. When we were dating Mark always had his supply in his wallet. I'd quickly realized that using a condom wasn't for me so I'd gone on the pill and he hadn't needed them since. If there were any that would be another nail in the lid of our marital coffin.

His wallet and pants pockets were clean of any evidence, so where else could I check? 

His briefcase and car were next and each produced the same sterile results. By now it had become almost like a game. Each time I came up empty handed I would get this disappointed feeling like I had lost the game. Next I checked his email account on our home computer and when that came up clean I tried his cell phone. No luck there either.

I was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee trying to work out what my next move would be. In my mind he was as guilty as sin, and lack of evidence didn't mean a damn thing. I was already wired by the excitement of what I was involved in and the coffee just added to my hyper state of mind. 

I mused over what I had done so far and decided that he wasn't smart enough not to have left some evidence of his cheating, I just had to find it.

Suddenly it hit me, I knew where it would be, in his fishing gear of course. He knew I never fooled with his fishing gear for fear of breaking something, besides I had no interest in fishing.

In the garage I rummaged around checking his tackle box and other accessories with the same luck. All I got was a couple of hook sticks in my fingers, which only made me madder at him. I was almost ready to give up when I spotted his fishing jacket hanging on a hook behind the side door.

Taking more care this time so as not to stab myself I went through the pockets and finally found what I was looking for. A packet of complimentary matches from the Hyatt hotel in Carlton, a small town about two hours drive time from here. In my state of mind that was enough evidence to convict and hang him. We'd never been to that particular hotel together and I couldn't think of a reasonable explanation for him having been there alone. Let's see him get out of this.

As it sank into to my brain that he really had cheated the real pain started. I spent the next two hours alternating between anger, frustration and humiliation. I wanted to rush upstairs, drag him from our bed and confront him. No that wasn't enough, I wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt me. I needed to see him suffer the same sort of pain and anguish that I was feeling. As I pondered my next move a small gem of an idea crept into my brain and slowly took form. By the time I was ready to go to bed I had almost completed my plan of attack. I was going to get revenge on this bastard. 

I would go out and fuck someone then bring the evidence back home to Mark. I'd show him that two can play at this game.

The trouble was, I still loved him and the thought of losing him hurt as much as the though of him having an affair. I didn't want to divorce him, although my first reaction had been to kick his ass out into the street.

Finding someone to fuck was easy. At thirty two, I still looked good and the guys in the office still flirted with me. A couple of the sales reps I dealt with hit on me from time to time but, so far I had always rejected them. 

Now, I had my pick of a bunch of guys some of whom were real hunks. One young guy in particular, Andy, was something else again. He had most of the girls in the office drooling every time he walked in. He was only twenty-one and just out of university where he had studied under a sports scholarship. Andy is six feet, dark piercing eyes and a buff body. Quiet and unassuming he didn't seem to notice the affect he had on the women around him. He projected an air of innocence that made him all the more attractive.

I made up my mind; Andy was going to be my means of extracting revenge on Mark. All I had to do was seduce him. He was a man so that shouldn't be too hard.

Over the next week I made my move on Andy. I dressed to show off my best assets with plunging necklines that gave him, and anyone else, an ample view of my 34 D bust. I also wore my shortest, hip hugging skirts with no panties so there were no visible panty lines. 

Of course I had a lot of attention and this time I played up to them all. Flirting with the guys made me feel wanted and desirable again. Not that Mark hadn't done those things for me. He was always very attentive giving me little surprise gifts, bunches of roses and left little cards all over the place for me to find. It was just the knowledge that he had cheated that had me doubting my sensuality. This attention was the balm I needed to sooth my shattered ego.

Andy was easy. When he first saw me his jaw fell open and he stood and gawked.

Walking up to him I closed his mouth then in as sexy a voice as I could muster said, "What's up lover? Like what you see? If you play your cards right you could see a lot more. That is if you want to."

Leaving him wondering if he had heard me right I turned and walked away from him emphasizing every step with a swing of my hips. That same action had always brought a strong reaction from Mark resulting in a long drawn out sexual romp. Would it have the same effect on Andy?

For the next three days I continued to tease him and he became increasingly more attentive and suggestive in his flirting. A few of the girls told me to stop teasing him as it wasn't fair. He's not very experienced with women and might get the wrong idea was the general consensus. Jane, on the other hand, knew exactly what I was up to and her advice was more direct.

"Dianne, what you are doing is not fair on Andy. He has no idea that he is being used by you to get back at your husband. If you have to do this at least pick on someone who can handle what is about to happen."

"Thanks Jane but I think Andy will enjoy this. Who knows, I might make it a regular thing with him."

Jane just shrugged and walked away shaking her head, leaving me to continue with my plan. As she closed the door she left me with one piece of advice, "That would be a big mistake."

Andy was interested but as yet hadn't made any moves and I was in a hurry to get this thing started. The thought of having sex with such a hunk had my pussy wet and with no panties on that was becoming a problem. I had also frozen Mark out of any intimate ideas he may have entertained. Unsure of what was happening he was becoming frustrated by my refusal to talk to him about our problem.

I wanted him to sweat on it but not for too long. I had decided that this Saturday was the day for my revenge. 

"Andy, are you busy Saturday night?"

The light shining in his eyes told me the answer before he managed to croak out his response.

"No. I hadn't planned on doing anything special. Why?"

"Well I was thinking that you might want to take a lady to dinner, dancing and what ever follows. Do you think you'd be interested?"

"Gosh yes." Then a cloud came over his face, "But you're married. What about your husband?"

"He doesn't need to know, besides we have an agreement of sorts." My mind filled in the missing pieces, "He just doesn't know it yet."

"Yeah sure." His face brightened with a knowing smile, "Where would you like to go?"

"Well I thought that dinner at a small, intimate restaurant, some dancing at a club then maybe we could find a room somewhere. If that's ok with you?"

Andy was blushing but had regained his composure enough to know the next move was his.

"Sure that sounds like fun. I know just the place and there's a motel not too far from it. If you like I could book a room."

"Sound like a date to me. You can pick me up at the mall car park north entrance at seven pm and we'll go in your car."

Leaning over to give him a better view of my tits I kissed him on the lips then whispered, "See you then lover."

The plan was in motion and I don't think I could have stopped now even if I wanted to. Phase two was to tell Mark I had a girl's night out and I wouldn't be in till late. Hell, if Andy lived up to my dreams I might not come home until Sunday.

After dinner that night I dropped it on Mark.

"Mark honey, I rang Susan today, she and a few of the girls are having a night out on Saturday. They invited me to go and I accepted."

"Oh! I had hoped that we could have a quiet night in together and sort out our problems. Can't you go another time?"

I gave Mark one of my stern, don't fuck with me looks then told him, "I'm going whether you like it or not. I don't get to go out very often and there might not be another night like this for who knows how long." Then again there just might be.

Mark went to respond then thought better of it and left the table. Turning at the door he told me, "Thanks for caring." Then he wandered out to his workshop, probably to play with his damn fishing gear.

I saw the hurt in his eyes and almost surrendered to it, then my anger kicked in and a vision of him with some blonde bimbo flashed into my head. 

"Fuck you," I yelled after him. "It's not as if you care about my feelings." He had gone and I don't think he heard the last part. 

The argument worked in my favour because he slept in the spare room for the next two nights. That might just become his permanent room if he's not careful was my last though before I went to sleep that night. It felt strange because it was the first time I'd slept alone since we were married.

Friday morning he was gone before I woke so I didn't know how he was handling it. Badly I hoped. I had never realized how vindictive I could be and it came as a real surprise. On the one hand I was glad he was hurting but it was almost as painful for me to watch him suffer. I really did love him even with his philandering ways.

I decided to try and ease the tension a little Friday night with a special dinner for him. Baked potatoes, grilled asparagus and one of the trout he caught a couple of weeks back, done in foil with herbs, chili, garlic and olive oil. I knew this was one of his favourites and it might ease his mind a little. It would also ease the guilt I was starting to feel.

The phone rang just as I put the finishing touches to the table decorations.

Pulling the earring from my right ear, I cradled the phone to my shoulder.

"Andrews' residence."

The background noise was loud and I could hardly hear him.

"Hi Dianne. It's me Mark, some of the guys are having a night out and seeing as you are going out tomorrow, I thought I'd have a night out with them. Don't wait up, I will probably be very late."

He hung up before I could answer. He had sounded really pissed and for a moment I wondered if my revenge was such a good idea. Damn him why does he always do this? Out with the boys, I'll bet he's with his whore again tonight. Well we'll see who has the best time.

I tried to sleep but tossed until he came in at 3 am. I heard his door close then two thumps as his shoes hit the floor. After that, nothing.

Saturday morning I was up early and prepared another surprise for him. When Mark finally surfaced it was twelve thirty and he looked like shit. He was still in the clothes he had worn the day before, but rather than the neat appearance he left with, he was now disheveled and bleary eyed. The front of his shirt was stained and the right knee of his beige slacks was covered with mud.

A grunt was the only response to my cheery good afternoon. I must admit it was more to piss him off than how I really felt.

Grabbing a cup of coffee he sat, or rather slumped, at the kitchen table.

"I saved your dinner for you. It's your favourite, so I thought you might like it for lunch."

With that I put the plate of charcoaled remains in front of him. Two hours in a fan forced oven on high can have a serious effect on that sort of food.

It took a few minutes for him to register what I'd done.

Pushing it away he groaned, "Very funny."

Finishing his coffee he made it back to bed to sleep off his hangover.

Maybe he had been with the boys last night. He sure wouldn't have been much use in bed in the condition he was in. Maybe she'd dumped him. That thought brought a smile to my face.

Well Markey if you think you feel bad now, wait until I come home tonight or when ever.

Saturday went quickly. With Mark out of the way I could spend as much time as I liked getting ready without worrying about what he would think. Not that I really cared at this point. This plan had a life of its own and I was being dragged along by the forces that drove it.


Tangled Web



By six I was almost finished getting ready and had just put on my dress. I had decided not to wear a bra or panties for two reasons. The first was that I thought Andy might appreciate my body more if he felt me up when we were dancing. Secondly my underwear was expensive and I didn't want to lose any of it.

Mark came out of the shower while I was picking my shoes. I hadn't heard him get up and go into the guest bathroom. He had come into our room to get some fresh clothes and saw what I was planning to wear.

"Damn Dianne, your not going out with the girls dressed like that are you? You have a date with someone? Don't do this, we can talk this out. Please don't do this."

His pleading made him sound like a wimp and that only made me angrier.

I lost it and yelled at him, "I told you I'm going out with the girls. If you want to talk, we can talk when I come home. Maybe then you'll listen to me. Now get your things and get out, I have to finish getting dressed or I'll be late."

Mark stood and stared then said something I had never expected to hear from his lips.

Any idea I had that he was a wimp was quickly dispelled by the strength in his voice.

"Dianne, I know you're cheating on me. I don't know who with, but when I find out he will be named in the divorce. Your attitude to me these last two weeks has been so distant and now this. I can only come to one conclusion, that you're having an affair." 

A tear slipped from his eye and he wiped it away before continuing.

"I won't be a cuckold. If I find proof that you cheated, our marriage is over. Think on that before you leave tonight."

As he grabbed his clothes from the closet I gave him his answer, "Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

Unsure what I meant he left to dress in the guest room.

He was taking the moral high ground now because he didn't know I knew about his cheating. He wouldn't be so cocky once all was revealed. At least that is what I tried to convince myself.

He hadn't come down before I left, so I left a note I had written to him, taped to the fridge door. I knew Mark and as soon as he had a problem to solve he reached for a beer. That's not to say he is an alcoholic but a beer in his hand helps him think. Lots of guys are like that.

Mark You know I love you, but these last two weeks have been a hell for me. I know we need to talk so I have decided that I will be home by two am.

Please wait up for me and I think we can clear up our problems and get on with healing our marriage. I want more than anything to have you as my husband, but unless we sort out our problems then I'm afraid that this won't be possible.

All my Love Dianne

Andy was waiting for me as I drove in, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw him. No more the shy guy he was dressed to party, red silk shirt open almost to the waist exposing his muscled chest and a six pack to die for. His slacks were wide but tailored and fitted him perfectly. I was sure I could see his cock through the thin fabric, and licked my lips in anticipation. He wore a dark blue, light wool jacket that set off the whole outfit and had my pussy running wet before I got out of the car. 

My decision not to wear panties was coming back to haunt me. In hind sight it didn't seem like such a good idea. I hoped that I didn't have a wet spot on the back of my dress.

Walking up, I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek but he moved quickly and caught me off guard. His arms wrapped around me and his mouth covered mine hard and demanding. This wasn't what I expect, but he was inexperienced and I would just have to show him how to please a woman.

Finally he released me and pulled me to his car. "The restaurant isn't far, I hope you like Italian."

Italian is one food I'm not real fond of, I don't dislike it totally but I usually prefer something else. Still it was too late now and I would only have a salad.

"Yes I love Italian, lead on"

The restaurant was nice but noisy and crowded. No room for romance here, I'd have to wait until we hit the club for some more intimate action.

I was surprised by the quality of the food and actually enjoyed it. At one point I caught myself thinking I'd have to bring Mark here one day.

Andy seemed to be well known here and was greeted by name by most of the staff and the owner. She was a tubby Italian mama who kept coming up to him, nudging him and winking while she looked at me. Twice she gave him the ok sign with thumb and forefinger. 

By eight the meal and two bottles of wine had disappeared and we were ready to move on.

The club was only half a block away so we walked and talked. I took his arm and snuggled into him watching the envious glances from the other girls we passed.

"You were very popular back there I take it that's not your first time?"

"Hell no, I take all my dates there the first time, it sort of sets the mood for later, don't you think."

I grunted a reply while I processed the information. This wasn't his first real date, so what. He was still shy and clumsy and was probably still a virgin. There was little about the atmosphere in the restaurant that set the mood for anything. Again his inexperience showing through. Once we talked and I showed him the finer things in life he'd soon pick it up. Andy was a smart boy.

He'd slipped his arm around my waist as we walked and as we approached the club door he slipped it up to hold my left breast. Now it did feel nice but there were twenty or so people waiting to get into the club and I felt like a slut standing there, being felt up. Pushing his hand down I whispered, "Later lover."

I made to go to the end of the queue but again he surprised me. Andy walked up to the bouncer at the door and high fived him. "Hey man how yah been? Got room for two small ones?"

The bouncer smiled at him then glared at the guys in the queue who were making remarks about preferential treatment.

"For my best customer? Always."

Lifting the chain we were ushered through the door. Andy slipped him some money as we entered. Once in, we paid the entrance fee and collected our two free drink cards. Through another door and I was assaulted by a deafening noise that made the very walls shake. 

We squeezed our way onto the handkerchief that served as a dance floor and tried to follow some sort of rhythm. It was impossible and eventually I motioned him into a corner that gave us a bit of breathing space. Now we could start the real fun. Couples all around us were necking and feeling each other up and in the darkened room I felt less inhibited.

Grabbing him I planted a deep French kiss on his mouth determined to teach him how to kiss to please a woman. He came back with a kiss that made me weak at the knees. His tongue reached for mine and explored the depths of my mouth. Finally I was the one who had to come up for air. For the next hour we necked and felt each other up. His hands explored my body through my dress and I felt his cock. I must admit I was a little disappointed as he was smaller than Mark. Still, he was young and what he lacked in size he would make up for in stamina. 

At nine thirty I was just getting into the mood and the music had dulled my senses enough that I no longer felt like I was inside a bass drum in the middle of a parade.

"Gosh look at the time, we'd better go. The motel is just across the street."

"But Andy, I was just starting to enjoy myself and we have lots of time yet."

"No, I told them we'd be there before ten, if we're late they'll let the room go. With this place so close it's very popular on a Saturday night."

Taking my hand we forced our way out to the door only being trodden on twice this time.

Once out side, I wondered if I had been deafened permanently as I could hardly hear the traffic or the people in the queue.

Not waiting, Andy grabbed my hand and dragged me across the street, dodging cars by inches, yelling abuse at drivers if they honked their horn at us.

This night was turning into a nightmare and I'd decided that this would be my one and only with Andy, unless he surprised me in bed. That he did.

Once in the door Andy grabbed me and kissed me while pulling off my dress. I tried to calm him down but it had no effect.

"Take it easy lover. Let me show you how to please a woman."

Wiggling his eyebrows (something I hate) he smirked, "I've never had any complaints so far."

OK so he wasn't a virgin but at least he was inexperience. His whole approach told me he lacked practice in pleasing a woman.

"Oh yes and how many girls would that be?" I stoked his cock, through his boxers. It had reached full size at about five inches, my fingers encircling it fully with a bit to spare.

"Girls? God I gave up fucking them when I was seventeen. You wouldn't believe how many horny women hang around the track looking for a bit of action. Teachers, PTA members and the mothers of the other jocks. It was a smorgasbord for four years."

Was this guy joking? If he'd been screwing around with real women for four years hadn't he learnt anything?

"Let's calm down and have a little foreplay first, we have hours to do the real thing."

"Yeah I love foreplay." Saying that he dropped boxers and pushed me to my knees in front of him. Guiding his cock to my mouth he pushed it in before I understood what he was doing. God he was a moron, what had I got myself into. Jane was right, I should have picked one of the older guys or maybe just confronted Mark. To late now, I had to go through with it. I'd get him off as quick as I could then set off home early. 

Well that was my intention, but you know what they say about the best laid plans. Once I had him hard he dragged me to the bed, bent me over it and started to fuck me from behind, hard and fast. Doggy style is usually my favourite position but tonight it did nothing for me. My pussy might have been wet at the beginning of the night but it sure wasn't now. Even through the pain of being dry fucked I felt his groin bruising my pussy lips. His hands held me tight around the waist and I was sure I'd be bruised there too. I hope Mark appreciates what I had to put up with to save our marriage. 

As Andy sawed into me I compared Marks gentle loving to the assault that was taking place here. Marks tongue as he prepared me, bringing me to orgasm before he even entered me. Kind, considerate Mark who had made a mistake and who I should have confronted and forgiven. Instead, I was being fucked into a semiconscious state by a pee wee dick attached to a steroid eating moron. 

I'd had enough and none to soon I felt him squirt his seed into me. God what about STD's. In the rush I'd forgotten to ask him about protection. Well to late now, it was over.

Collapsing on the bed he grinned at me and said, "How was that?"

How was that? God I could hardly walk after that pounding, and not one orgasm. The bastard had left me high and dry. Well Mark could make up for it later.

"Great lover. But I have to go, I've got a date with my husband and wouldn't want to be late." Late, shit it was only ten pm, allowing for time to walk over here we'd only been screwing for twenty minutes and I felt like the whole football team had been through me.

"Ohh! You can't go yet," as he waved his still hard cock in my face. "I haven't tried your ass yet, and I have a nice surprise for you."

Searching for my dress and shoes I told him, "Ill have to take care of that another time baby, but right now I'm in a hurry."

"You can't go. What will I tell my buddies when they arrive? They were looking forward to this. I told them how hot you are and how you'd be able to take them all on. I did it for you baby. I know what sluts like you need."

He said it like he believed it would change my mind.

"You did what? You arranged for me be to be gangbanged by your buddies. How dare you. Who the fuck do you think you are? I'm not that sort of girl."

"From where I am, I see a married woman out cheating on her husband, trying to get dressed while my cum runs down her leg. To me that spells slut. Now stop pretending and come back over here, I want some of that ass before the others arrive."

It was his bad fortune that the nearest thing to me was the lamp sitting on the bedside table. It had a heavy ceramic base, which caught him on the head, laying him out cold. 

Not sure whether I had killed him, I checked his pulse and breathing, and he appeared to be fine. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek and he would have a terrific headache when he woke up. Well fuck, he had earned it.

Grabbing my purse I ran from the room leaving the door ajar so that his buddies could find him and look after him. I ran, blinded by tears, the three blocks back to my car and collapsed behind the wheel. I had to wait for my hands to stop shaking before I could get the key into the ignition and start the damn thing. 

The date that had been so full of promise had turned into the date from hell. I was angry and frustrated with Andy. He'd played me for a fool with his innocent little boy act and like a fool I'd fallen for it. 

Maybe I'm old fashioned but there should be some romance in a date, but this new age approach didn't seem to include any seduction on the part of the guy. 

The part that bothered me the most was that he had considered me to be a whore who would take on his buddies and enjoy it. Had I really projected that image? 

The drive home was a mixture of humiliation and pain. I couldn't blame Mark for this; I'd brought it on myself so I had to deal with it. One good thing, I wasn't horny any more.

Pulling into the drive, I sat for a moment then braced for what was to come.

Mark was waiting in the lounge and looked up in shock when I stumbled in. 

I don't know if it was because I was early or because of the state I was in. Hair and makeup mussed, dress missing one shoulder strap and my shoes still in the car. I certainly looked like I'd been royally fucked.

"Well you did it. All that bullshit about loving me, wanting to save our marriage. What was all that about? Did you think that I would accept this and go on as if nothing had happened? I hope it was worth it you slut."

That last part hurt. He was the second person to call me a slut tonight and I'd had enough.

"Now just you listen mister. None of this would have happened if you'd kept your prick in your pants where it belonged. I know about your little love nest two weekends ago. You were seen at the Hyatt in Carlton with some blonde bimbo. So don't go all moral on me. All I did was have a revenge fuck to let you know how I felt. Now we need to talk this through and get on with our lives. I'll make some coffee and we can sit down like we used to and sort through this." I paused for breath and Mark had the floor. 

"I don't know who it was they saw, but it wasn't me. I was two hundred kilometers away on the other side of the state fishing like I said."

Less confidant now I played my trump card. 

"Jane saw you, she was there with her husband and they saw you with another woman. Also I found these in your fishing jacket." I pulled out the matches and threw them at him. How come Dave caught fish that weekend but you didn't. Because you were fucking not fishing."

Spent I collapsed into a chair. "Alright I'm waiting for your lies or you could tell the truth for a change."

Sitting in the chair my dress had ridden up giving Mark an unobstructed view of my pussy and the dried cum sticking to my pussy lips and thighs.

Mark's look of disgust chilled me and I shivered. "First Dave hardly ever catches fish but he enjoys getting away with us. Either we give him a couple to keep Emily quiet or as in this case he buys some on the way home. The matches aren't mine they are Steve's. He travels with his job and probably picked them up during a trip. He gave them to me to light the lamps one night and I must have slipped them into my pocket."

Mark was angry and I had to admit either he was telling the truth or he was quick on his feet. 

"What about Jane seeing you, explain that."

"I don't know this Jane so I can't explain it, but I can prove I was on the other side of the state Saturday afternoon."

Pulling out his wallet he produced a gas receipt stamped and dated from a gas station on the other side of the state, just like he said. Damn he was good, he must have worked out in advance what I was angry about and managed to fake this receipt. It even had his car registration on it.

Taking it I checked it out and almost told him it was a fake, then I remembered seeing it in his wallet the night I had checked it. This wasn't going the way I planned.

"But Jane said..."

"Who the fuck is Jane?"

"You know Jane who works with me."

"No I don't know her. I've heard you talk about her but never met her. When I do I'll certainly give her a piece of my mind. Why would she want to ruin my marriage? What have I done to upset her?"

He was right she had never met him, how did she know it was him? She had seen his picture on my desk often enough. That must be it.

While I pondered on it, Mark had disappeared into the kitchen, probably for another beer so we could work this out.

"Here are your things. Let me know where you are staying and I'll send the rest over." 

He'd reappeared carrying two suitcases, which he dumped in front of me. Taking my purse he removed my house key before returning it. 

"I'm seeing a lawyer on Monday morning and applying for a divorce. I transferred half of the joint funds into my own account, what's left in the joint account is yours. Now get out."

This couldn't be happening. Mark loved me, he wasn't meant to react this way. He was going to see the error of cheating and promise to be faithful. What had I done? He still denied that he had cheated on me, even after being seen. OK he had explained the other things but not that. He'd probably swapped cars with Steve or someone and they had got the gas to cover for him. That was it. He was just being macho and taking charge. Once he calmed down we'd work this out.

"OK I'll go, but let's talk about this before you go off and start spending money on a divorce lawyer. I know you'll see sense once you calm down."

Picking up the bags, I took them out to the car and sat wondering where to go next. I didn't want to go to mum's especially looking like this. The local hotel was the next option. Didn't I raise a few eyebrows when I waltzed in to their foyer looking like the local whore.

They did give me a room but with strict instructions, no men. Who could blame them?

It took all the will power I had but I let Mark have his think time. For two weeks I waited for him to see reason and come back to me. 

Finally I'd had enough and rang him at home. Once he heard my voice he hung up the phone. I rang back twice and he did the same each time. I waited an hour then tried again but it was busy. He'd taken the phone off the hook. 

The next day I rang him at work but the receptionist told me he wasn't accepting calls from me. If I had anything of importance I should contact his lawyer.

Mark stuck to his guns and refused to talk to me. For three months I tried to get him to talk to me and see reason. If I could get over his cheating why couldn't he do the same?

I was getting more frustrated with each passing day. How could he not see my point of view? I had lost what anger I had, replacing it with fits of depression and bouts of crying. My life had turned to shit and I wasn't sure why.

Next I tried waiting for him at home but he just looked at me then ignored me and went inside closing the door in my face. The next day an intervention order was handed to me at work. It prohibited me from trying to contact Mark directly and from coming within 100 meters of him.

Andy made sure he got his revenge, letting everyone at work know that I had put out for him and his mates. Even though I denied it, the others had all seen how I had teased him and believed his story. Every man and his dog was hitting on me for weeks until I kneed Andy in the balls and only then did they get the message.




Tangled Web



I couldn't afford to stay in the hotel, so I'd moved back home with my parents. They were sympathetic but said it was my own fault. I should have talked to him. As dad said, two wrongs don't make a right.

I was still living in hope that he wouldn't go through with the divorce. He was just trying to scare me into backing down and apologizing. How the hell could I apologize if he wouldn't talk to me?

I remember that Tuesday oh so clearly. I was sitting at my desk finishing off an account when the girl from the front desk called and said that there were two men at the desk to see me. Thinking it was salesmen, I put on my best smile and walked down to meet them. 

Mark stood there with another man talking quietly. My heart skipped a beat, had he forgiven me? 

Mark nodded in my direction and said something to the other man who approached me. Mark stood back not taking part in what was about to happen. I knew then my marriage was over.

"Dianne Andrews?" A question within a statement, I nodded yes, unable to speak.

"You are being served with divorce papers by your husband Mark Andrews. The grounds are your adultery. If you haven't got a lawyer then I suggest you do so as soon as possible."

Nodding to Mark he walked off after completing his assigned task.

"Mark no, I thought you loved me. How could you do this to us? I love you. I know we have problems but we can work through them surely if we love each other."

Mark's voice was cold, his words calculated and almost emotionless, "I did love you with all my heart. But you took that love and ripped it out of me, and my heart with it. Now all I feel for you is pity. You chose to listen to someone who doesn't even know me. Where is this bitch anyway I want to say a few words to her."

"Yes, she'll prove that you cheated and we can forget this. I'll get her."

Running over to the desk, I asked a snickering receptionist to page Jane for me.

Jane arrived, and I thought that finally I could get him to admit the truth.

"Jane, tell Mark what you saw that weekend at the hotel."

Jane shrugged and told her story again. "I saw your husband with another woman staying there."

Mark gasped, "You saw me staying at the Hyatt in Carlton?"

Jane shook her head no. "No I saw her husband not you, and it wasn't the Hyatt in Carlton. We stayed at the Regent in West Bend."

Mark and I were both confused, but for different reasons. What was she talking about?

Jane turned to me and said, "I don't know what is going on here but I saw the same man who used to come here and pick you up for lunches and after work. The man you took with you on that three day conference in August two years ago. You introduced him to us as your husband Wally."

Fear paralyzed me as I realized she was talking about a guy I had a short affair with two years ago. Jane really didn't know my husband.

It had dawned on Mark at the same moment and a look of triumph creased his face.

Mark turned and left calling out for all to hear, "See you in court."

My fate was sealed.



Tangled Web



One fateful day I met a girl that changed my life forever. She was especially good looking that day in fact, with nice long legs, well toned curves, long dark hair, and pouty red lips. I never would have known. I struck up a conversation with her, as the PUAs taught me to, and before long we were sitting down alone at a table with coffee and snacks. We talked for a good half hour before she happened to look over to the waitress for a second at just the right angle. There was no denying it. She had an Adam's apple. 

Lots of men would have left at that moment, but I still thought she was hot, and I thought I could get over it for some decent anal. Not wanting to publicly embarrass her, I very quietly called her out on it. She was a lot more calm about it than I thought she would be, just mentioning that I was still there, so I must not be too bothered by it. I thought about this for a moment, and realized that I wasn't really bothered. I still wanted to have sex with her. 

She was great in bed. A real giver. They say that blind people learn to use their other senses better. Since she only had one hole, I guessed that she must have learned to really make the most of it. While on all fours, she clenched against my cock, and slammed back into me as I took her from behind. When I came, I felt completely empty, like I didn't have a single sperm left to blow inside her. From that moment on, I had convinced myself that I was in love.

It wasn't too long before we found ourselves in a real hand holding, regular sex having, "No, you hang up" relationship. She loved to talk, and most times I just let her. Since she had made permanent physical changes to her body that bound her to the LBGT community about as intimately as anyone could be, that's one of the topics we ended up talking about the most. In one of the first big discussions we ever had, we talked about the different types of transsexual. She was a pre-op male to female transsexual, which meant that she was born a guy, she had hormone therapy and cosmetic surgery to look like a woman, but she still had a penis. A post-op male to female would be someone who had been through everything she had, and then decided that she wanted a vagina instead of a penis. Doctors nowadays can do that pretty well. I couldn't even tell the difference on some of them.

After a picture show of some totally nice looking pussies, she told me that she was never going to get rid of it. She wasn't sure how I felt about it, and understood if I couldn't handle it, etc, etc, but she wasn't ever going to have a vagina. I said I was fine with it.

We had lots of other discussions like this, and most times I ended up being so amazed at how hot she is despite being born a guy. That thought always made me appreciate her all the more, and almost always resulted in her ass getting filled. It took me a little while to get over it, but in time I started to just completely accept the fact that I was dating a transsexual woman. With that acceptance came the thought that there might be things I could do with her that I couldn't do with a natural girl. Up until this point, I hadn't even done anything with her cock. It was just kind of there when I fucked her, but one day I just decided to go the distance. I sucked her cock and opened my ass for her insertion. I didn't even cum that day. It was all about her. I was trying to cram all my past due reciprocation from 8 months into one cum smeared day. 

The next morning, my ass hurt like never before, but then I thought back to why it hurt and I couldn't complain. I willingly put another person's penis inside my ass and I liked it. There's a sentence I wouldn't have been able to see myself ever before saying. It was true though. We had some after glow pillow talk that morning. It was then that she hit me with something that I couldn't have expected. She explained to me that last night she realized she needed a vagina. I was floored. I had spent all this time getting used to her with a penis, and imagining myself possibly even just living without pussy. I thought I might be able to do it too. All this kind of thinking felt completely pointless though, when she hit me with "Oh no, not for me. I meant for you." 

I couldn't even believe it, and I asked her to repeat it just in case I had heard her wrong. It was after she repeated herself that I realized why we spent all those hours looking at fake vaginas. Last week she showed me a whole new set of them. She said that she would understand if I didn't want to do it, but that this was like a life dream of hers. She said that she was completely heterosexual in a way that only a transsexual could be. She needed to have someone with the body of a man and the genitals of a woman to complement her. She said that she couldn't be happy without a pretty pussy to fuck and a handsome man to love. I should have left her and moved on, but I was young and so completely in love with her that I thought we'd just get married and spend the rest of our days together, so I finally agreed. I couldn't even believe I was agreeing to this, but I asked her to find me a doctor. She did so much research into this that she had the perfect doctor already picked out who would just give me the surgery with no hormone replacement and no questions. 

She wasted no time in setting up an appointment. I'd have to travel to Bangkok to get it, as the doctors here wouldn't even do this without giving me a full transition. The consultation was in less than a week and the initial surgery could be done in two. The day finally arrived and I couldn't help but masturbate before I left. I watched some genetic girls take turns eating each other out. I went in with my head low, but I consoled myself by thinking that it's all for the hottest sexiest girl I've ever known. If she had never had a sex change, I'd never have gotten to enjoy the sexy body she has, so she had a sex change for me, and I was about to return the favor. 

It was over pretty quickly, and afterwards it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. It looked ugly at first. Just a bloody hole, but after the follow up surgeries and some time to let it heal it started to look really nice. I couldn't help but admire it in the mirror. I had a hot little pussy, and all the fear and confusion went away when I thought of my hot tranny girlfriend banging this pretty pussy.

I sat on the bed stroking my brand new clit, just waiting for her to get home. I was excited even. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't wait to feel that cock in me. When she got home, she saw me playing with my new toy and pulled down her panties to reveal one of the hardest erections I had ever seen. She was about to give my pussy the pounding of a lifetime, and my mouth was watering at the thought. She came over and very slowly lubed up her thick cock. She played with it a little, just to tease me. When she had almost emptied the bottle and rubbed it all in, she came over to me with lube dripping everywhere. I was on my back, and opened my legs in sweet anticipation. She grabbed my legs and made sure the position was just right for the insertion I so eagerly awaited. Then she shoved it in my ass.

She plowed my ass like I'd never even dreamed it could be fucked. I was pissed at her for getting me so worked up just to fuck a hole she could have fucked without my life altering sex change. While she fucked my ass, she explained that she was never going to fuck my pussy. She just wanted to look at it while she fucks my ass. That's it. It's nicer to look at than a floppy penis. I had changed myself into something that no other woman would ever date, and she wasn't even going to play with her new toy.

After she came, she pulled out and reached into her purse. She handed me a list of men's names. I asked what it was, and she explained that it was a list of all her other lovers. Apparently, she'd convinced all of them to get their penises removed too. This was then to be my support group, and her list of fuck buddies. She added my name to the list and left me with sperm still dripping out of my ass. I cried myself to sleep.

She still comes over and fucks my ass from time to time. I don't fight it, and I've learned not to even talk to her. She just comes in completely unanounced and expects to ass fuck me. If it's not clean, then she smacks me and waits for me to get it clean. She never says a word to me. After she cums, she just leaves. At least she uses lube. I think she's got a new boyfriend she's working on now. I can't bring myself to warn him. Ever since I had it cut off, I just can't defy her anymore. Probably the lack of testosterone. Besides, if I piss her off, I might not get any sex anymore and then I'd be alone forever.



Tangled Web



CHAPTER ONE

A glance at his closet was all you need to know Mr. Marcus. There, hanging in fussy uniformity were his jackets, trousers, shirts, and even ties, various yet not too varied shades of gray. Flannel, tweed, corduroy - softened with age, defying passing trends. And yet, almost hidden in the back was a dress shirt, white with light blue checks, the shirt he wore when he felt especially daring.

Today was such a day. The early fall light fell magically through the leaves of the tall trees surrounding his little house, the change of season announced by branches of red and gold among the green. The tang of fall air, warmed by a lingering summer sun drew him out of his grayness, calling for a gesture, he decided on the special shirt and to forego a tie.

He walked along the path that led from his home to the college administration building where he worked as an accountant, though every three semesters he taught an introductory accounting class. Mr. Marcus was proud of his membership among the faculty, it was a small but important distinction among the business office staff. He was occasionally invited to faculty events, each time he felt honored. The Provost called him by his first name, Stuart. Everyone else knew him as Mr. Marcus. He was secretly pleased to his toes when a student from one of his classes recognized him and addressed him as Professor or Doctor Marcus, though he always fastidiously corrected them that he did not deserve those titles.

The 'girls' of the business office, as they were called but had long passed middle age, noticed his rakish change of fashion. He blushed at their compliments, remarking that the beauty of the day called to him.

His feeling of daring was again piqued as he stood in the lunchtime line in the cafeteria. He chose, not the usual luncheon special, but a bologna sandwich, apple and bottle of iced tea. Why? So he could enjoy his meal a plein aire. On such a lovely day, only French would do to express his thoughts, though his French had long since faded to a few bons mots.

An ancient stone bench at the foot of a grand maple called invitingly from across the Quad. The stone was warm from the sun as he sat. His senses were alive with the smells of fall, the warm sun on his face and hands, the sounds of birds and student conversations. His seemingly pedestrian lunch abounded with flavor. He closed his eyes, raised his face to the sun and drank in every sensation.

"May I share your bench?"

From deep in his meditation, Mr. Marcus heard the deep, rich voice reminiscent of a rumble from the great Chaliapin whose recordings lay gathering dust in a cupboard in his living room.

"Of course." The daring Mr. Marcus of a moment ago withdrew into the painfully shy Mr. Marcus, accountant. He lowered his gaze to his feet. There to the left of his own carefully polished, tightly tied shoes were naked, somewhat furry ankles above scuffed loafers many sizes larger than his own. Frayed cuffs of khakis in need of pressing led past knees to long, muscular thighs evident in the pant's legs. A hand rested on one of these thighs, the back covered by fine hair, golden in the sun light. The hair coarsened on the veiny forearm, exposed by shirt cuffs rolled to the elbow. The blue shirt sleeve strained against the bicep it enclosed. The broad expanse of shirt across the chest had three buttons open, exposing pectorals covered with dense hair. The neck was closely shaved, the chin strong but showing a shadow of beard. The lips were full, in a broad smile, teeth a little irregular, but very white. The nose was angular with signs of a long ago break. And the eyes, blue like the sky, gleaming with intelligence. Mr. Marcus licked his lips.

"I'm Calvin Stephenson." He held out his large hand for Mr. Marcus to shake. "I'm covering classes in Economics for Dr. Childress during her absence. This sure is a beautiful campus, nothing like UCLA. When I heard about the chance to teach here, I jumped. Thankfully, the administration liked me well enough to make the offer, so here I am. Too bad about Dr. Childress, I hear its cancer. They can do a lot more with that these days. And you are?"

His words were like a bass aria, resonant and rich. The sound struck Mr. Marcus's ears and vibrated in his chest, a vibration he could feel to his core.

"Oh, forgive me. I was lost in this lovely day. I'm Stuart Marcus, sometimes accounting teacher, usually assistant to the college treasurer. Nice to meet you Professor Stephenson."

"They usually call me Calvin, or to my close friends, Cal. Stu, you're one of the administration people I need to see today, process payroll forms and all."

No one had called Mr. Marcus 'Stu' since he was an undergrad, many, many years before. The sun paled in warmth to the radiance of 'Cal'.

"Welcome to the college, Calvin, Cal." Mr. Marcus's daring was returning. "We're on the ground floor of the main building any time you can stop by. We'll get you all settled in."

"Thanks Stu. This college is certainly friendlier than I'm used to. I will say the visiting faculty accommodations are bit like going back to college. I had forgotten what a dorm bed was like until somewhere in the middle of last night. The food in the cafeteria isn't bad, but I do miss having a kitchen to cook in for myself. I really enjoy cooking."

Mr. Marcus leaned back to take in the man next to him. He would have guessed football or rugby would be his likely pursuits, not cooking. The intense masculinity of this man was off putting to Mr. Marcus who was self conscious in the presence of most men. He made the excuse of needing to get back to work and scuttled off. As he crossed to Quad, he looked back twice, both times meeting the eyes of the large man who waved and smiled at him.





Tangled Web



Stu held his own in the conversation that evening. He heard himself laughing and joking with Cal. It was like being in a men's club, the raw humor, rough camaraderie, and bourbon. They moved from the dining room to sit in the living room to enjoy 'one more round'. At first, Cal sat across from Stu on a chair, but when making a particularly ribald joke, he moved to sit next to Stu on the couch. Cal laid his arm along the back of the couch, leaning in toward Stu who was rapt in Cal's every word.

Then the atmosphere changed. They sat in silence, inches apart. Stu could feel his heart beating, the only sound in the room and his words, "I think I need another drink, I still have my cherry."





Tangled Web



"We've been looking for you, Stuart. It's fortunate that you came along" said the Provost.

"What's this about?" Mr. Marcus was confused.

"We need to ask you some questions."

"Perhaps we could go inside?" suggested the Provost.

"Of course, gentlemen, come inside."

"May we look around?" asked the lead agent.

"Certainly, gentlemen, but I can't imagine what you're looking for."

The Provost and Mr. Marcus sat in the living room while the FBI agents moved around the house.

"This the only computer?" asked an agent indicating the desktop in a corner of the living room. Without waiting for an answer he began to dismantle the computer, taking the CPU and modem out to the car.

The agents addressed each other from the bedrooms. "Hey chief, this place looks like it's been scrubbed by pro's. We won't find any evidence here."

"Oh, my house guest has a thing about cleanliness. I thought I was a good housekeeper until he came along. The bathroom positively gleams. I admit I let him do it." Mr. Marcus said lightly.

"And your 'house guest' as you called him, where is he now?"

"I expected Professor Stephenson back by now."

"Mr. Marcus, have you accessed student records on this computer?"

"Certainly not" he replied fastidiously. "I am told that the system security is top notch, but I've never been comfortable accessing privileged information outside my office in the administration building. We are entrusted with a great deal of confidential information and I honor that trust." Mr. Marcus then paused and said thoughtfully. "There was one time when Cal, Professor Stephenson asked me to log on, but that was just to check some reports or papers related to his position in the Economics Department."

"When was that?"

"About a month or so ago, yes before Thanksgiving."

"Did you allow Stephenson to access the system using your id often.?"

"No, that was the only time. Dr. Waldheim, I realize it is technically a breach of security procedures, but I cannot believe anything untoward of Cal's accessing the system. He was trying to get some work done from here. It's unimaginable that this requires the attention of the FBI."

"Unhappily, Mr. Marcus, student records had been reviewed on this computer and one of those students disappeared a few days ago."

"I think it's preposterous to suggest that Cal had anything to do with that." Mr. Marcus was indignant. "He has always had the welfare of students paramount in his mind. He could never do anything to harm a student or anyone else, for that matter."

"Nonetheless, Mr. Marcus, we must thoroughly investigate every aspect related to the student and his possible abduction. It is inordinately suspicious that your computer was likely used to gain information about the missing student and that your home has been cleansed of fingerprints and traces of human occupancy typical in even the most fastidious house." The agent's cell phone rang. "What? The office, too? Damn. Stephenson's office has been stripped, too. Well Mr. Marcus, what do you say to that?"

Mr. Marcus sought the Provost's face for some sign of reassurance. Finding none, he fell into despair. Could Cal, the man he loved, be guilty of such a horrific crime? That surely was not possible, and yet, where was he? And what was behind his excessive cleaning? And why had he cleaned this morning?

"Mr. Marcus, it's routine to take samples of DNA for validation and testing. With the way things have been 'tidied up', we'd appreciate any suggestions on your part as to how we might obtain some. You seemed to know Stephenson well."

Mr. Marcus felt again the feeling deep in his core that served as a reminder of his making love to Cal. The blood drained from his face.

"Stuart, if there is anything, anything at all we can do to help this investigation, we must do it. There is a student out there whose very life is at stake. Please Stuart, you have to help" the Provost pleaded.

Mr. Marcus looked at his shoes. He began to speak quietly. "This morning, Cal made love to me. We haven't been using condoms for some time, since we've been cleared of any possibility of disease. His semen is still inside me."

The senior FBI agent was on the phone immediately. "Get me a proctologist, now. There's got to be one at the local hospital. Never mind why, get one and an examination room. We'll bring in the subject. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get there. Now move!"

Mr. Marcus allowed himself to be led out of his home. He scanned the area to see any sign of Cal in the hope he would show up and clear up this incredible mess. He thought for a moment he saw someone in the woods across the path. No one emerged. He concluded it was just the breeze moving the shrubbery.

"I've got to check-in a minute" said the lead FBI agent. He walked a distance from the car and took out his cell phone. "Yeah, it looks like a real pro job, totally cleansed the house and the professor's office. We got a lead on some DNA, though, though we have to extract it from a witness's ass. I'll explain later. No sign of him around. Marcus doesn't seem to know anything. He's real upset. I guess the suspect was his boyfriend. I've already alerted the local cops. We've got to get this area locked down. Yeah, that's right. An APB for the missing student and now we can add this Calvin Stephenson. Too many links, he's got to be involved." He got into the car next to Mr. Marcus, looking for any tell tale reactions. Nothing.

Mr. Marcus had lost his spirit and allowed himself to be packed into the car and taken to the hospital He was put on a stretcher and whisked to an examination room. There a doctor, already in surgical attire asked him to disrobe.

"No need to be nervous, Mr. Marcus. This is a very routine procedure. Tell you what, let's get an intravenous going so we can give you something to help you relax. It will all be over in no time." The doctor wrote some instructions on Mr. Marcus's chart and asked a nurse to complete the pharmacy order and administer the sedative. He excused himself to attend to another patient, promising to return shortly.

The nurse was gone only a few minutes and returned with an IV setup and some small phials. She expertly inserted the IV needle and completed the process, injecting the contents of the phials into the IV. The preparation room had another patient who called for the nurse's assistance. As the nurse went behind a curtain dividing the room, a doctor she did not recognize came in. The doctor greeted her in a friendly fashion. The nurse looked at the doctor's badge to be able to call her by name and welcomed her to the hospital staff. The patient called again, and the nurse went to help.

Mr. Marcus had begun to feel woozy from the drugs. He looked up to see a female doctor examine the chart at the foot of the bed he lay upon and do something to the IV. She then lifted the sheet covering him and seemed to touch his ass. She recovered him and left the room.

As she left, a large man came into the room. He leaned over Mr. Marcus and spoke quietly in his ear, "I'm sorry Stu, I'm so sorry."

Mr. Marcus recognized that voice from within the deepening confusion of the drugs. He replied, "Cal, Cal" and lost consciousness.





Tangled Web



I'm the worst kind of FaceBook Friend you can imagine. Yup, you heard me, I'm a devil. I have multiple identities and they are all complete lies. I am not at all what I appear to be; shock, horror, I hear you say. Every identity, every address, everything I assert is a fake. I lie about everything, literally everything. 

I can be controlling through my pretence but let's be honest, you can never truly control people remotely through social network sites, unless they are willing victims. Some people are so desperate for friendship that they just want to believe you even if the story you weave is pure fantasy.

So, why would I do such a thing? 

Simple, Mrs Doubtfire made me do it. 

Not the fictional character played wonderfully comically by the inimitable but tragic Robin Williams exactly, but "she" gave me the idea in the first place.

OK, we'll start off with the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, shall we? 

I'm a single guy, a Londoner, but nearly twenty years ago I moved away into a small commuter town, Addlestone, Surrey, when my wife (sorry, make that ex-wife) first fell pregnant. It was her idea, so we could raise the kids in the country rather than the city. I agreed at the time and went along with it. 

Yeah, raising my kids in the country they were born in would have been really nice, and they would have been if it wasn't for that bitch!

Yeah, my marriage produced two beautiful kids, but neither of them live with me and I haven't seen them together or apart in seven years, until today.

My son Danny, well, he's 18 now. He's a real mixed up kid and thinks he's gay. Well, he could be for all I know, I just think that he is still too young and far too confused and lacking in self-confidence to tell right now. You could say it was my fault that he is still so uncertain, partly at any rate, but mainly it's because there's no concerned parent at home that he can willingly turn to. He's sleeping alone tonight in a local hotel, right now while I write down this little confession. He waits for his Mom to collect him, maybe tomorrow or the next day. 

My other angel, that's my darling daughter Lily-Ann, is only 12. I haven't seen her at all for seven years. I don't think she's coming over with my ex-, her name's Sandra by the way, but I don't really know for sure, because nobody's talking to me right now. 

Well, Kyle Rockerfelt is still trying to talk to me. 

Kyle is Sandra's current husband, but he doesn't quite know who he's actually talking to. Go figure, as he would say in his own inimitable way.

Yup, I'm full of stories. All of my FaceBook Friends think I live in mansions or at least comfortable houses or apartments, be they in Winnipeg, Norfolk, Addlestone, Athens, Rome or even downtown Reno. When you lie about where you come from, hey, the Moon's the limit. 

I tell some of my FB 'friends' that I am a banker, others that I am a Personal Assistant, or a body builder, maybe a retired stockbroker, or waiter, carpenter, casino croupier, a mother, or a divorcee. Whatever floats my so-called friends' boats, I can be whoever they want me to be, or I want them to believe I am. 

It's life, Jim, but not as you know it.

Do you want some more truth instead of lies? OK, here goes with a few essential facts. 

Currently I only work two nights a week, filling supermarket shelves, for which I get minimum wage. I work with a bunch of social misfits, mostly non-British illegal immigrants, and many like me using forged ID. 

So what? To get to where I am, in a position to manipulate the people in my life, I've had to break the law, I'm a violent criminal with a record, who's dropped under the radar. I live in a caravan, on wasteland behind a derelict and vandalised factory, a recession eyesore, owned by an offshore company who haven't deemed it ready to redevelop or consider it economic sense to chase me off, yet. It helps that 'I', in one of my many guises, am a friend of the CEO of the developers, so I know what their plans are and can move when I need to.

Despite the apparent power that my identities imply I possess, in reality I'm a broken man. And furthermore I am beyond redemption.

My life first started to fall apart when my wife decided to go back to work as a legal secretary, just after our youngest, Lily-Ann, started school. Sandra worked for a firm of lawyers specialising in international corporate finance, advising corporations how to work the system, where to make the profits and pay less tax, obtain state funding to maximise rake off. While she was there, Sandra fell for the suave American lawyer over here learning the European legal ropes, before going home, taking Sandra and my kids with him. 

I got the "Dear John" letter, addressed to the real me, Mark Andrews. Guess what? "Mark Andrews", from Addlestone, Surrey, United Kingdom, has never had a FaceBook page ... and I mean to keep it that way. It's a jungle out there.

Sandra briefly wrote her last-ever post-it to me, to confess that she was in love with another man and had already permanently moved to the States that morning for a new life, taking my 5- and 11-year-old children with them. She wrote that she couldn't leave them behind and her new lover was prepared to adopt them as his own, whether I liked it or not, and that he was rich enough to reduce me to penury if I tried. 

I found out who she had been seeing from someone at her old company. I discovered one of her friends prepared to speak to me and put me out of my misery, after the others gave me the runaround for a heart-wrenching fortnight. 

Kyle Roman Rockerfelt the Third was easy to track down: Ivy League, wealthy family, all of them lawyers. A big splash in the online version of a specialist magazine disclosed that, following his successful two years' international corporate law experience in London, he was taking charge of the Dallas office. He was in his mid-forties, twelve years older than us, appeared clean cut in the photos, with a supercilious grin on his face that an impressionable woman probably thought handsome. More searching found he'd been married and divorced three times, so Sandra wasn't the only moth attracted to the flame. Apparently, he could afford the alimony and the trust funds for his own four kids, maybe with enough over to pay my kids through college.

I flew out to Dallas as soon as I could, hired a car at the airport, and scouted out their love nest. It was early Saturday morning and he was cutting the lawn in front of his beautiful ranch-style house. Then I saw my even more beautiful wife call him in, for coffee and French toast, I found out later. She was wearing a light robe, which revealed her flimsy underwear as she walked across the lawn to kiss him passionately 'good morning', then skipped back indoors while he rolled his mower towards the back yard gate.

I was incensed, my plans to go softly softly and win my family back using reasonable argument, went out of the car window. I slammed the car door shut, ran over the lawn, knocked him to the floor and began punching him continually. Everything was happening so fast, I think I was just going to keep on hitting him until he stopped breathing. 

Then on the backstroke my elbow struck something soft. I stopped and turned. Time slowed down to a snail's pace in my awareness on events. Sandra was falling onto the lawn behind me, her nose broken, blood everywhere. She bounced in slo-mo, her gown flapping open, one tit tumbling out of her lacy bra. I could hear the police sirens. Mostly, though, I remember vividly the image of my kids in their nightwear, crying piteously. I was pinned to the floor by police officers while being tasered, then cuffed, their mother and new 'father' stretchered away in ambulances. Well, they might have been my kids before, they were not mine any more.

A five year sentence is five years minimum in the Correctional Institutions Division of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, with no time off for good behaviour. Tough place, too, the French M Robertson Correctional Unit. 

I lost three teeth defending my honour the first time. Later forced to be some big dude called Bubba's bitch, I clamped my jaws down hard on his erect member and both testicles. They had to break my jaw in two places and fracture three ribs to get me off. I lost consciousness before I let go. I assured the paramedics, when I came to, that I never swallow on a first date and, apparently, they declined to sew back on the mincemeat I spat out. Bubba was a lifer and so the procreation of his genes did not come into the equation. I lost the sight in my left eye and my eyelid only opens halfway whenever I'm really tired, but Bubba's someone else's bitch now. 

I lost a few more teeth, in another incident, so was not looking very presentable for any visiting relatives, not that they ever visited or even answered the mail I posted. In the end I just sent my kids letters within cards at Christmas and birthdays. Never had a reply in the last seven years.

I was repatriated back home to spend my last two years at Her Majesty's Pleasure. It was like Butlins in comparison, and I was out under licence twelve months later. I wasn't allowed to work in Reinsurance again though. Hell, I couldn't sell insurance or solar panels or anything; they don't give jobs to criminals when there's a recession on, despite what they say about rehabilitation. My hot head has left me permanently out in the cold.

So I disappeared under the radar. I needed a laptop, so I stole one. Hey, it's not really stealing, it's redistribution, the insurance company buys the victim a better one; I burgle the same place a month later, so I get an upgrade and eventually he does too. It's capitalism at work, supply and demand, followed by supply again. 

The same system worked for Kyle Rockerfelt the Third; he wanted my wife's pussy, she wanted a better life than she thought my career in Reinsurance could provide, so she supplied herself to him on demand. 

Later, I was the banker who paid for Kyle's dental work and Sandra's nose job. The amount that lot came to I reckon I must have paid for new boobs and Sandra's new smile, too. I had no choice but to declare bankruptcy, as I was left with less than nothing. No plastic surgery for me, so my face retains ... shall we say the character of an interesting existence, I'm too bitter to call my time on earth a life any more.

Anyway, I learned about social networks two or three years ago. I had never used them, until I saw June Masefield in Primart one Wednesday afternoon. I barely recognised her, struggling with her three kids, one of them chocolate-black, while picking over sales clothing. I invited her and the brats for coffee and whatever sugary drink drove those kids absolutely insane. June accepted, thinking I was romantically or otherwise interested in a single mother. I wasn't. 

June Masefield had been Sandra's best girlfriend back in the day when Sandra was plain Sandy Abrehart. June was the girl most likely to succeed: lively, beautiful, she married an oilman who took her out to Lagos, where he managed an oil refinery. She cut off contacts with her old friends, living the high life. Now divorced and living in sheltered accommodation, through a 'misunderstanding' she said. She couldn't leave a phone number but borrowed my pen to write down her address for me; I wrote a phone number on the coffee shop till receipt that was made up of random numbers mostly copied off the till roll. I didn't have a phone either.

I was driving taxis at that time, using a national insurance number and name I'd 'borrowed'. My first laptop was left in the cab, so I claimed it. I signed up for FaceBook as 'June Smith', using a free email address in the same name. Then I built a 'history', uploading images of 'my children' from the net, nicely-furnished rooms from Right Move, and holiday snaps from exotic locations. 

As plain 'June Smith' I joined FB groups, requesting friendships from all over. I got turned down a lot, but some accepted my new persona: a middle aged woman, with time on her hands, happily married to a successful businessman, three lovely kids ("this is my Darren, he's 12, isn't he Mum's pride and joy? and this is my sweet new dog, Taffy"). I gained valuable experience in FB use, learning who to target and how best to make 'friends'.

Then I mothballed 'June Smith's' first FB page and started a new one, reverted to 'June Masefield', contacting selected people, including old school friends, bemoaning that my old site had been 'hacked'. Soon June had a new, selective history, even more envious than the one the original June Masefield had lost.

Sandra Rockerfelt readily accepted 'June's' friendship. She confessed to 'June', in a personal message, that she was lonely, her lawyer husband busy at work, kids were growing up, and her youngest Kyle Junior the Fourth just starting first grade. We swapped stories, 'mine' were particularly entertaining, betraying an envious lifestyle, while openly rejoicing in Sandra's comparatively humdrum Texan life. Sandy and 'Junie' were best-est friends again in no time.

I told you the truth earlier, remember? I'm really living in a caravan. I cook on a Primus stove and use butane gas for lighting, no electricity. I work Friday and Saturday nights stacking shelves and sleep all day weekends. Monday to Friday I spend all day in various libraries. No more laptops for me anymore though, too cumbersome. I use a different tablet or PDA for each main identity, which I carry round in a backpack. I charge the batteries up at libraries, and use their free wifi whenever I can.

'Aaron', an older male uncertain in his sexuality, set up a dialogue with my son Danny eighteen months ago, after checking the youth's posts. Danny felt he didn't fit in and was unloved at home. He was reaching out for male friends, my female aliases asking to be friends over a six month period were continually ignored ot ejected. Danny was tentative about opening up, until made aware that friendly 'Aaron' was from his old home town of Addlestone, with the up-to-date photos to prove it. 'Aaron' was then in. 

As 'Aaron' I tried to convince Danny that he was loved, asking had he, for instance, tried to contact his father? No, Danny was not interested, his father was a raging beast, who he wanted nothing from. I contented myself with being his FB friend, in regular contact, offering advice, and trying to get him more involved with his family. 

I was particularly worried about his sister, Lily-Ann. She was on BeBo when I first made contact. She told her new best friend 'Betsy' from Utah (that's me), that she was really into boys in a big way, but not yet made the first tentative step. Lily-Ann's only 12, for crying out loud! It was only Betsy's Mormon sense of propriety that was keeping her in check. Her other best friend, 'Celine', a Canadian Presbyterian (it's amazing the fantastic shots of Winnipeg you can find online) was also a restraining influence. 'Deidre', a friend request from Des Moynes, was still pending, but in the long term I felt I was losing her. 

Danny needed to man up and be more involved in his family, if only for Lily-Ann's sake. Their parents were selfish disasters, and I could only do so much from a distance.

Not all my FB identities have been as fruitful as I wanted. Using photos of a bronzed Greek show-off (to another of my inventions), my 'Nikko', 'Alex', 'Theo' and 'Giani' (the last one Italian, I explained the Greek ruins in the background as a holiday), were popular with Kyle's mother Agatha, sister Julienne, his office PA and Alison, the desk clerk at the hotel where I found out that Kyle was taking his mistresses. 

Agatha is a sweet and lonely rich widow who seems to be falling for 'Nikko' in a big way, especially as he appear so genuine and doesn't want anything from her, despite the nude pictures they each exchange in PM. 

The Greek God I use for supplying photos is actually a gay male model who poses on nightly cam recorder, although the nude stills which he sets against classical backdrops are perfect for my purposes, I just have to keep stealing credit cards to pay for it, mostly by mugging drunks. The things I do to play Mrs Doubtfire.

Kyle's sister Julienne is a bitter divorcee who has already booked next summer vacation in Santorini; she didn't take anywhere near as long to be persuaded to send her nude pics to 'me' as her mother did. 

Now, Kyle's PA Helen, was very useful loading up an encrypted file of images which Alison sent from Kyle's hotel with a message saying his laptop wasn't talking to his office PC and could she just copy them over for him? 

Alison enjoyed looking at the nude pictures of 'Giani', so when Kyle's sister 'Gulienne', who was also a friend of 'Giani', sent a friend request, she accepted. Once 'Gulienne' was an established friend, she admitted to Alison that she was worried about her brother Kyle, knowing that he was bringing mistresses to Alison's hotel and was concerned that PIs might be sniffing around, sent by his fourth wife. Naturally, 'Gulienne wanted to protect him. Alison enjoyed the banter of all three friends and agreed to help keep Kyle safe. So when 'Gulienne' sent her an encrypted file to pass onto to Kyle's PA, she carried out the request without hesitation.

Those encrypted files, password Kyle's birthday, are selected images of his naked mother and sister, some of which show them masticating for 'him'. Also a number of draft letters referring to incest trysts with his closest blood relatives, relating to hotel nights booked in his name, including his wish to introduce his step-daughter to premature adulthood whenever the opportunity presented itself. All forgeries, all circumstantial, but would you want him heading up one of the premier offices in your business? And mud sticks. 

Sandy was in tears the other day, envying her friend 'Junie's' perfect life. The Daily Mail did a brilliant Ideal Home exhibition feature, so I couldn't resist remodelling 'Junie's' Norfolk Broads holiday home. Only yesterday, Sandy admitted to 'Junie' that hubby Kyle had run off to live with his girlfriend, a casino croupier in Reno, so she'd changed all the door locks and started divorce proceedings.

Do you know how difficult it is to download pornographic material from a public library wifi? Neither did I. 

It's not for me, I wouldn't touch that stuff with a barge pole. No, it was for Kyle, the dirty-minded sod. You know, I had to hot-wire a car and drive around a council housing estate until I found an unprotected wifi, without parental control. I contacted FiFi-Lamore-dot-com 'extrovert web cam artiste' to do some posing, recorded her calling me 'her lover Kyle', plus I bought lots of stills. The best 300 bucks of someone's stolen credit card, I ever downloaded. I fed Kyle those stills and promises of what a bodacious 25-year-old casino croupier could do for him, over a seven-month period, before 'Ruby' from Reno sealed the deal with the tour-de-force video and Kyle came hotfoot for live action.

Unfortunately for Kyle, an email containing embedded files of every exchanged email, PM and including hilarious images of Kyle's self-abuse, was sent to Sandra by 'Ruby'. That was followed up within seconds by a message asking her to destroy the files, which had clearly been sent to her in error. Well, I mean, 'Ruby' had to try and stop Sandra looking, but you can't trust anyone not to look anymore, can you?

So, now Sandra's flying over here to collect lovelorn Danny, who is devastated that his Dad loves him, but not in the way he wanted from 'Aaron'. She's also hoping to see her long-lost best friend for consolation in her hour of need but is going to be as disappointed as Kyle, who is presently bombarding me, well not 'me' exactly, with PMs and emails trying to find which Reno casino I don't, and never actually did, work in.




Tangled Web



Yeah, it's a tangled web of deceit out there in FaceBook Friends world, if you are even vaguely connected with someone who wants to get you by any means possible. 

Be careful out there, folks, and be safe. If you've nothing to worry about, I'm sure you've nothing to worry about. But....