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A "Jewel" of a Wife

By: imhapless



How my wife Arlene and I met, and our backgrounds, are not particularly important for this story. Nor are detailed physical descriptions. Probably all of the background necessary to get a good idea of the relevant information can be summarized in a few paragraphs.

At the most relevant time of this story, I, Austen Weston, and my wife Arlene, were both 33. We had been married eleven years and had two daughters, Justine, 8, and Cybil, 6. Arlene and I are both slightly better looking, taller, smarter, and fitter than average, but no geniuses, actors, or models. Our libidos are also slightly higher than normal and we have enjoyed a very good sex life, even though not earth-shattering. Arlene was a corporate attorney, specializing in negotiating contracts although also knowledgeable about trust, wills, and estates. I was and still am the vice president in charge of purchasing, including IT equipment, of a small public company.

My sister, Jen, her husband, Bill, and their twin fraternal twin daughters, Kate and Beth, 7, live about four miles away by roads, one mile as the crow flies because there is a large park and forest preserve that you have to go around to get there. Our kids and their cousins are best of friends, and in the same school. Although I didn't really know Bill before he started dating Jen (and married her six months later), he has become my best friend.

One idiosyncrasy that Arlene exhibited was her approach to finances and saving money. She insisted on "investing" in jewelry and art. "Gold and platinum jewelry and artwork are investments that you can enjoy while they appreciate," was her common refrain. While I put a little away in the stock market, most of our savings was invested in jewelry – for both her and me – and artwork in the form of paintings and a few sculptures.

We also encouraged relatives to give our kids gifts of jewelry and art, and also gave them that type of gift as their "big" present on birthdays and Christmas, of course also with toys, games, books, and/or clothing.

Because of the significant value of our jewelry and art holdings we had a sophisticated security system. That included electrically powered sensors for each of our approximately twelve most valuable paintings and two most valuable sculptures. Also, we had a safe in the floor of the bedroom, and each of us had a locked desk. Arlene had the only key to her desk, I had the only key to mine, and Arlene had a key to the safe with the only other one in our bank safety deposit box.

To insure that power to our sensors and security system never went down, we had a backup generator and also a battery backup – double redundancy!

Bill has sort of taken a page from our book, but in a slightly different direction. He had high resolution cameras covering the only three entrances to his house, and a security system, though it was less sophisticated than ours.

Another idiosyncrasy that Arlene had, probably because of her semi-specialty of wills, trusts, and estates, was specifically adding expensive jewelry and artwork to our wills shortly after we purchase a piece. All male jewelry gets added to my will with the beneficiary alternating between our daughters Justine and Cybil (should Arlene predecease me), and vice-versa with Arlene for female jewelry. For pieces of artwork we alternated between Arlene and I who bequeathed them in our wills, again alternating between Justine and Cybil. This had the effect of designating some of our assets as mine, and some as hers, since you can't bequeath something you don't own outright.

Life was going along swimmingly, as far as I was concerned, until one Thursday night. When I got home from work Arlene was there, but the kids weren't. We were having a candlelight dinner, and Arlene had a skimpy outfit on and gave me a passionate kiss when I came through the door.

"Where are Justine and Cybil?" I innocently asked.

"Jen and Bill were nice enough to take them tonight, and to school tomorrow. You should have seen how excited they were when I told them they were having a sleepover at Kate and Beth's house," Arlene replied with a diabolical smile.

"Whatever will we do without them?" I said playfully, pulling Arlene close to me and giving her a passionate kiss."

"We'll think of something," she replied, squeezing my crotch.

After a tasty, flirtatious, and light dinner, we put on some CDs and danced. We mostly practiced the steps of slow dances we were learning in a weekend dance class, in our house, with our shoes off, for a good hour. Once Arlene started humping me on the "dance floor," that was the end of that. I carried her upstairs, she stripped me seductively, I stripped her unceremoniously, and we fell into bed.

While Arlene had never indicated an aversion to sucking cock, to the best of my recollection she had never initiated oral, always waiting for me to eat her first, or for me to almost push my cock in her face. Not that night. She started out sucking me like my cock was the last ice cream cone on earth, while manipulating my balls.

Then Arlene started sucking my balls while fingering my ass, both of which she had never done before.

I was groaning like a wooden ship being pulled out of the water, and saw flashes in my eyes. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore she virtually jumped in the air and landed her soaking wet cunt on my stimulated upright cock.

As Arlene grabbed my chest hair and continuously moaned "Fuck," she was bouncing up and down on me like she was on a bungee cord. It didn't take long before she was screaming and I was squealing as our bodies were wracked by mammoth orgasms, and she collapsed on top of me.

We lay there, with my dick still up her pussy, as we both ground our pelvises together ever so slowly. Every thirty seconds or so one or both of our bodies were "tortured" by an aftershock.

When I finally went flaccid, Arlene rolled off of me and started planting kisses all over my face and neck. "Did you like?" she rhetorically asked.

"Does the Pope poop in the woods?" I replied, out of it enough to mix my metaphors and getting a chuckle from the sex Goddess who had taken over my wife's body.

We soon fell asleep; but Arlene was not done. She woke me in the middle of the night by sucking on my cock again, and soon I was blasting another full load of cum into her sweet pussy as her ankles were supported by my shoulders and I massaged her tits.

You're probably wondering why, just before I described the best sexual encounter in my experience, I said "Life was going along swimmingly, as far as I was concerned, until one Thursday night." That's because I knew Arlene and thought "Shit; what does this mean; more over-the-top sex in the future, or does she want something."

It is with the latter thought that I fell asleep for the second time.

The next morning, Friday, Arlene was all lovey-dovey and I allowed myself to believe that the only thing the fantastic sex we had meant was that our sex life had turned a corner from very good to excellent, and more phenomenal sex was in store.

My happy-go-lucky attitude, and big shit-eating grin, both mentioned by a number of my colleagues at work on Friday, changed in the early afternoon when the phone rang.

"Austen, it's Arlene," my secretary said over the intercom.

"Hi, sex Goddess," I opened the conversation.

"Hi, yourself, Eros," Arlene laughed.

"Hey, I'm not Greek," I laughed back.

"No, but you sure are the God of lust and sex," she giggled.

We continued trading compliments, which devolved into small talk, then the purpose of her call.

"Say, Darling," came over the line from her beautiful lips, the preface of a disaster to come. "Some of the people from the office are going out for some food and drink tonight as part of a team building exercise suggested by the morale consultant I told you about that our corporation recently hired. Are you OK with picking up the kids from day care, and getting dinner tonight?"

"Aren't you even coming home?" I blurted out with pure disappointment in my voice.

"Sure, I'll need to change. But I won't have time to pick them up and fix dinner. We're supposed to meet at the restaurant at 6:30. Oh please be a dear, I don't want to be the only one in our group not to go," she purred.

Miffed, I asked "Why such short notice?"

"I think that was part of the exercise – sacrifice for the team. You know that I'd much rather be with you and the kids, but I feel I should do this," she continued, purring even more.

What was I supposed to say at that point? After the best sex of my life she knew damn well that I couldn't be a jerk and say "Hell No!" I resigned myself to the inevitable.

"Sure honey. We will get to give you a kiss goodbye, won't we?" I ask sweetly.

"As long as you don't try to drag me to bed, Eros," she giggled.

We said our goodbyes. I sat stunned at my desk. She had never "gone out with the 'guys'" from work before; as far as I knew she didn't really like most of them, and I don't remember her ever inviting any of her co-workers to our house; nor did I remember her ever telling me about a "team building consultant." This smelled like three-day-old mackerel! 

My sunny disposition and shit-eating grin disappeared.

I picked the kids up, made them their favorite meal of macaroni and cheese (although I did make them eat a salad too), and we saw Arlene off. We couldn't really kiss her, "Don't mess up my makeup or wrinkle my dress," she tittered as she gave us all light pecks on the cheek.

"That dress doesn't look like team-building garb," I mumbled to myself, "unless the exercise is to get fucked."

When Arlene came home that night, I noticed the clock. 1:02 a. m. Hardly dinner and a few drinks. I pretended to be asleep to avoid a confrontation. She crawled into bed with – as far as I could tell and confirmed the next morning – with some average negligee on and spooned me.

There was no sex Saturday night, but I did get some conventional, for us, sex Sunday and Tuesday nights.

I liked it less and less as the next two Thursday and Friday nights I got the same treatment. Well, it wasn't that I didn't like the fantastic sex Thursday night when it seemed that her aim was to fuck me senseless in positions or manners (including her virgin, as far as I knew, ass); rather it was what it meant. More "team building" on Friday night. After the second Friday night outing she got home at 1:22 a. m, the third 1:51.

The fourth Friday night, I had had it, despite the fact that she possibly outdid herself Thursday night as far as giving me physical (though not emotional) pleasure was concerned by riding me reverse cowgirl while massaging my balls, and then giving me the best blowjob of my life in the middle of the night. 

As Arlene was getting dressed Friday, into a slinky outfit I had never seen before, I was direct. "Arlene, I really don't like this going out on Friday night shit."

"Now, dear, I've already explained the necessity to you several times," she said while smoothing her dress over her hips while looking intently into the mirror.

"I'm sorry, but I can't believe that you get home at eleven thirty," the time she lied that she had gotten home the previous three times, "from dinner and a few drinks. I'm very suspicious, and it's killing me."

"Now, Austen," she said sternly, "you have no right not to trust me. We've been married for eleven years, for God's sake, and have two kids. What do you think that I'm doing, whoring?"

"I don't know, but what I do know is that everything about this smells," I replied.

The conversation got more tense as it went on. Finally after she gave the kids an obligatory kiss on the cheek I said as she walked out the door, "I'm asking you, no I'm begging you, for the sake of our marriage, not to go."

"Austen," she said exasperated. "I can't cancel now, I'd be the laughing stock of the company. We'll talk tomorrow and I'll allay all of your fears, or even tonight if you wait up."

"So you think I'll just put up with this?" I asked in a surly voice.

"Darling, you know if we break up that I'll get the kids, the house, and child support; you don't want to destroy your life over ungrounded suspicions, do you?" she asked with a belligerent look on her face.

"You're the one destroying the marriage," I snapped.

With an exasperated look she said "We'll talk tonight even if I have to wake you up."

"We can't talk tonight because I won't be here when you get back in the wee hours in the morning," I barked. "The kids and I are spending the night at Jen and Bill's; have a nice life," I snapped as I closed the door. I didn't slam it, but it wasn't gentle either.

Through the one-way mirror in our front door I could see Arlene, with a perplexed look on her face, start to reach for the door knob; but then she shrugged her shoulders and walked out to her car parked in the driveway.

As soon as Arlene's car was out of sight I yelled to the girls "Let's go to Aunt Jen's house to stay tonight while mommy is at her meeting."

They were ready in about two minutes flat, and we got into my car, parked on the street. I had already arranged our sleepover with Jen and Bill, and they knew that there was something up; Jen because of woman's intuition, Bill because I had a very vague and basic discussion with him. He's a smart guy and could fill in the blanks quite well.

After the girls were asleep – or at least quiet – at eleven o'clock I went out to my car to retrieve a bottle of pills and I returned to the house at 11:02 p. m. The car was parked where the front door security camera, which recorded time and date, would have an excellent view of it.

About 3:30 in the morning my cell phone rang waking me up. "Hello," I groggily replied, looking at the alarm clock next to my bed in the guest room, which read 3:29.

"Austen, where are you?" a frantic voice screamed into my ear. "Must be Arlene," I thought to myself.

"I'm at Jen's house, like I told you. Why in the fuck are you calling me at 3:30?" I responded in an irritated voice.

"Austen, we've been robbed," Arlene cried. "All of our valuable art and jewelry has been stolen."

Turning on my iPhone's recording app I had her repeat it then asked "Why didn't you call me as soon as you found out?"

"I did," she hysterically cried, "I just got in fifteen minutes ago. The house is completely dark and I had to find my way around with a flashlight."

"What the fuck are you doing getting home from a team bonding experience at three fucking fifteen in the morning? Exactly how were you bonding, you on top or him?" I snarled, trying to be as vindictive as possible.

"Well, uh, time, uh, just kinda got away from me; we can talk about that later, you've got to come home!" Her emotional train was now completely off the rails.

"Jesus fucking Christ; OK; I'll be there as soon as I can; let me get dressed," I grumbled.

I went to the bathroom, got dressed, went out to the car, and drove the ten or twelve minutes it takes to get there by car. Arlene's makeup was smeared all over her face, having been dissolved by copious amounts of tears, when she met me at the front door, flashlight in hand.

She started to approach me with her arms open and say something but I held her off with my outstretched arm and harshly cut her off. "Did you check the circuit breaker team builder?"

"No, I don't know where that is," she cried.

"Get out of my fucking way," I shouted, quickly moving past her while shining a flashlight of my own. As I passed her I asked "Did you call 911?"

"No..." she sheepishly responded.

"Well what the hell are you waiting for?" I snapped.

I saw her getting her cell phone out of her purse as I blasted past her.

I went to the basement and found the main circuit breaker in the "Off" position. I also found the backup generator switch "Off," and the battery backup disconnected. The phone line, to which the security system was connected to the outside world, was unplugged.

I turned the switches "On" and reconnected the battery and phone line. Everything was working perfectly, because alarms indicating the theft of multiple pieces of art were ringing. I turned the security system off by punching in the code at the console by the front door. I answered the phone call from the security company, gave the password, and told them that it was a false alarm.

I started reviewing everything on the first and second floors as Arlene was dissolved into a puddle of tears on the couch in the living room. "Greet the cops at the door when they get here, and get your head out of your ass," I yelled at her with a real edge to my voice.

Sure enough, not only was all of Arlene's and my jewelry and art taken (except for one really heavy granite sculpture), but so were the kids' valuable possessions. Even the secure safe in the floor of the master bedroom was open – and empty.

When the cops arrived I gave them my statement first while a female police officer was trying to get Arlene to calm down. I told one male officer about my wife's call to me, what she told me over the phone, and what was missing. I produced a list from my study of all of our valuables. Meanwhile two other male cops were sweeping the house in case someone was still there – I hadn't even thought of that.

Finally Arlene calmed down enough to give her statement to the female cop. While she was doing that I pulled the cop I had been talking with aside and whispered "I really think you should check out my wife for this theft. She's the only one with the key to the safe that was open – except one in our safety deposit box which I'm sure you can confirm is still there – and she and I have been having marital problems. I wouldn't be surprised if you found something incriminating on her computer or in her locked desk."

The cop looked at me funny, but wrote it down.

"What kind of problems?" he asked.

"I believe that she's been fucking some other guy the last four Friday nights. I get a private detective's report tomorrow. When I told her our marriage was in trouble if she went out tonight, I guess that was yesterday, Friday, she did it anyway. I think that she wants to ditch me, and doesn't want to split our wealth when she takes off," I said as earnestly as possible.

"She would really do that, with two kids?" he asked.

"She'd assume that she could take the kids with her," I replied. "She almost admitted it last night – I have it recorded on my iPhone," I groaned.

"You say that you're getting the P. I.'s report tomorrow, Sunday?" he asked.

"No, sorry, I keep thinking of this as Friday because I'm not normally awakened at 3:30 a. m. I get the report around noon, today, Saturday," I replied.

"Can you bring me a copy at the station when you get it?" he asked.

"I certainly will; I'll probably be by about one, one-thirty," I replied.

"Great. Ask for Officer Smithson. I'll bring a robbery detective up to speed."

After the cops left I went back to Jen's house without even talking to Arlene. I didn't even bother to answer her as she called out "Where are you going?" as I went out the door.

After a nice breakfast at Jen's house, where I brought her and Bill up to speed, I brought the kids home about 10:00 a.m. I told them that a bunch of our stuff was temporarily missing, but I was "sure" that we'd get it back. They were sad and crying when they went to their rooms and found some of their favorite stuff missing.

Arlene, still looking like hell, and I did our best to comfort the kids. "I have some errands to run," I told them, "but will be back by about 2:00 or 2:30 at the latest. Want to go to the park then?" I asked, smiling as widely as possible.

That turned their tears to smiles. I got hugs from them, and as I was getting ready to leave Arlene came up to me and asked "Where are you going?"


A "Jewel" of a Wife Ch. 02



A Jewel of a Wife – The Unintended Sequel

I got so many questions about what Traylor and Arlene were going to say to Austen that he refused to listen to that I felt that a sequel was necessary. What they had to say was not the normal bullshit (no comment on if it was at all justified). If you liked the way that the original story ended then DON'T read this.

Thanks.

____________________ 

Although I was pleased that I had punished my ex-wife Arlene and her paramour Jack Traylor by getting both sent to prison, and had avoided losing my daughters Justine and Cybil, now 10 and 8, in a custody battle, I had three problems. 

The first problem was that both Justine and Cybil really missed their Mom. While I took them to see her for three hours every other Sunday at the minimum security prison she was serving her four year sentence, that wasn't enough for them to get the type of attention that apparently only a mother can give to her daughters. Justine, in particular, was showing real signs of stress, including dropping grades and interest in other activities.

The second problem was that I missed Arlene too. Despite how her adultery had hurt me, and how she had killed my love for her when she all of lied about her affair, refused not to meet with Traylor, and threatened to take the kids away from me with little visitation, all on the same day, I was used to having her around. I also missed our love-making sessions. Even though she was apparently doing it just to manipulate me, the last four Thursday night fucks we had before the night that killed our marriage were all time; and unforgettable!

Third, things were not as rosy economically as I had thought. While I made good money as a Vice President of a small public company, considering the mortgage on a house that we used to have two salaries to pay, and expenses associated with arranging for care for the girls when I was working, and bills that Arlene normally handled with her salary alone, my life style had changed. I still had jewelry and artwork I could sell, and certainly could downsize if necessary; but that would make things even worse for my daughters. I certainly didn't have any disposable income to put in a college fund for my daughters, something that really bothered me.

I had not even seen Arlene since the criminal trial. Whenever I brought the kids I just dropped them off with a cell phone at the guard's station if they needed me to be there before the three hour limit. I never saw Arlene.

Even though I had hired a nanny to be there when the kids got home from school, and to help out other times, she was no substitute for Arlene in the kids' minds. I had hoped to be dating within a month or two of the divorce, but even though the nanny was on call for that the opportunities were few and far between.

After Arlene had been in the slammer about six months Justine brought me a letter she had gotten in the mail from Arlene. The letter to Justine simply said "Justine, honey. Please give this letter to Daddy and make him read it in front of you. Tell him that there can be no more visits if he doesn't. Much Love, Mom."

Justine was fragile at that point of time and already had tears in her eyes when she handed me the letter to her, and a sealed smaller envelope addressed to me. I had no option but to open it and read it since Justine stood there the whole time with a soulful look, and she clapped when I read it. My letter was simple too.

"Austen: I know that there is no chance of reconciliation, and to be honest after what you did to me I wouldn't take you back if you begged – so we're done. However, there is something I need to talk to you about face-to-face that involves the girls' futures. Therefore, you need to plan an hour of face time with me next Sunday; bring the nanny to sit with the girls while we talk. If you don't come this Sunday, don't bring the girls ever again, and I'll be sure that they know why I won't see them again."

WOW! She was playing hardball. I didn't really have a choice because I knew that she was stubborn enough to follow through on her threat even though it would kill her; it would kill the girls too. So I made arrangements.

The next Sunday the nanny, a sixty year old grandmotherly type named Grace, Justine, Cybil and I went to the prison. It was the most excited I had seen the girls since Arlene was incarcerated. Arlene talked to the girls for a little less than two hours, and then called for me.

Both Arlene and I had good reason to be apprehensive. She had killed my love with her affair with Traylor, and I had ruined her life by framing her for the burglary. When I saw her, except for the ugly orange prison jumpsuit – she never looked good in orange anything – she looked as good as the Friday she made her decision to go to Traylor despite my begging her not to. Maybe she lost five pounds, which she didn't really have to lose, but she still looked good to me.

"Hello, Austen. I guess my threat worked," she said without emotion.

"Hello, Arlene," I replied, also without much emotion, although my palms were sweating. "I figured it must be important if you resorted to that threat since you've always been a very good mother. Do you really have something to say that is important for the future, because I don't see much point in rehashing the past."

"You're right. I got greedy and hurt you badly. Your nuclear response was not what I expected because I really thought we loved each other, and your resolve to destroy rather than listen ultimately killed my love for you," she continued, with so little emotion that it really surprised me.

"Your infidelity was why I..." I started to say, trying hard to keep my emotions in check since the pain of her betrayal was bubbling up again, when she cut me off.

"Like you said, Austen, the past is done. Done, that is, except that you have to know that it was greed on my part, not lack of love for you, that led me to do what I did. And, according to the clock on the wall I have one hour and four minutes to tell you what you wouldn't listen to before, and what has happened to make that relevant for the future, otherwise I would never explain it to you," she replied, this time with a little edge in her voice but still surprisingly emotionless.

"You've got my attention for one hour, four minutes," I replied with a half-smile. "I'll stick it out no matter what you say; I just might not respond."

"You'll respond," she confidently said, then started in on her story as I sat with my hands folded in front of me.

"You know how much I love art, and how I've always wanted to own some masterpiece; you have to remember that," she said with her own half-smile.

"Yeah, I sure can't deny that. I know that you wanted to turn our house into competition for the Smithsonian National Gallery of Art," I replied with another half-smile.

"Well Jack Traylor was someone you met once before, but probably didn't remember. He is an art appraiser, and we met him briefly at a show about four years ago. He had a shady reputation, although no one disputed his credentials as an evaluator. Anyway, he and I stayed in touch after that meeting."

Seeing the look on my face her smile disappeared and she sternly said "There was absolutely no sexual relationship whatsoever. I just discussed with him what my art goals were, and he promised to help me achieve them – for a finders' fee, of course. In fact he was the one that put me on to the O'Keefe Adirondack sketch that you like so much, and helped me get it undervalue, even considering his commission."

She was right – the Georgia O'Keefe sketch that we had was one of my favorites of the art that we owned.

"The two artists, which you also clearly will remember, whose works that I most wanted to own and that we realistically had a chance – no matter how small – to acquire in the future were Camille Pissarro and Alfred Sisley," she said.

"I know that you always loved their French impressionist paintings, but I didn't think that you coveted owning one," I replied, slightly surprised.

"Well I did. That brings me back to Traylor," she quickly replied, now with a stoic expression. "About a year before your divorce filing he came across a widower, with no children and no family that ever paid any attention to him, that had an art collection he wanted Traylor to evaluate. When he was younger this guy – I'll call him 'Pete' just to have a way to easily refer to him – travelled the world on business. His hobby was to pick up a painting or two in various odd places, including the French countryside."

"Hmm," I thought to myself, "this is not going the way I expected.

"Well," Arlene continued, without hesitation for what she was saying to sink in, "it turns out that of Pete's thirty paintings several were originals by unknown artists, worth maybe a couple hundred bucks each, several were decent forgeries or knock-offs, depending upon what you want to call them, five were worthless, and two were – life-changing."

"What does that mean?" I asked, honestly perplexed.

"One was an unknown original early work of Pissarro, and the other was an original sketch by Sisley that he obviously used as a guide to make one of his most famous paintings, 'Chemin-de-las Machine Louveciennes.' I know what you're thinking, Traylor had to be wrong, but he wasn't," she continued, her excitement rising.

"How do you know he wasn't wrong?" I asked, now even more perplexed about where this was going.

"Because I gave him $20,000 to have the works scientifically evaluated at a laboratory using infrared reflectography, a stereoscopic microscope, Wood's light, and IR spectroscopy," she replied with her first real smile.

"Bullshit," I shot back. "How could you have gotten that much money together to give him while we were still happily married?"

"I took it from my 401(k), paying the penalty for early withdrawal. Since 401(k)'s are not normally part of what is divvied up in divorces in our fair state, you wouldn't have seen it during the divorce proceedings either. Anyway, Traylor had a problem, and he had what he knew to be a greedy accomplice in me," Arlene replied.

"He couldn't very well buy the Pissarro and Sisley works himself and then later sell them for a small fortune. He needed an intermediary, and one that he could trust. He felt me out for that role," she continued.

"And felt you up, too," I deadpanned.

"That came much later," she replied without any real reaction. "Anyway, he and I devised a plan. He would convince Pete – who was having a few money troubles – to sell me his entire collection for $50,000. We would include photos with the bill of sale so that there was no mistake what art was being sold, and the only names on the sale documents would be Pete's and mine. Then we could display the real Pissarro and Sisley works in our house, and four years later I would sell the Pissarro and give Traylor half the proceeds."

"Isn't that fraudulent?" I asked.

"Like I said, I was greedy," Arlene responded," and my greed overtook my morals. Plus, Traylor is a good salesman and convinced me that Pete would be dead soon, and that there was no reason to have such valuable stuff go to the State, or some uncaring distant relative of his."

"How much did you expect to make on this little transaction?" I inquired.

"Well, Traylor felt that the Pissarro would – after the auction house took their cut – sell for at least $1,000,000, so minus my $70,000 in expenses we would split at least $930,000. Plus, and this was a big plus for me, I could keep the Sisley sketch and display it as long as I wanted to. If we ever decided to sell it, it would likely bring $100,000 or more in present day dollars."

"So this deal was worth over $550,000 net for you," I rhetorically asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"So how did sex with Traylor start?" I asked, the real question in my mind.

"Well, obviously this was something that we couldn't do a valid contract for, and he had a 'trust' issue, or at least he said that he did. He had to trust that I would split the auction house proceeds with him four years from now. I proposed a number of different alternatives, none of which satisfied him. Then he came up with a sexual affair with him," she replied, for the first time with emotion in her voice.

"What!" I exclaimed in a voice loud enough so that others looked at us. I quickly lowered my voice and continued "How in the fuck was that supposed to get him to trust you?"

"Because he knew that I was in love with you and wouldn't want to do anything to ruin our marriage; so he could give you photos if I didn't come through," she said with a wince.

My mind was in turmoil. I didn't know if I should believe her, and certainly it was a stupid backasswards thing to do. But it was just wacky enough to be true, especially since now there was no reason to lie since her life had already been knocked off kilter, and there was no way either of us wanted to get back with the other. I sat thinking for at least a couple of minutes, while she just stared at me with a pathetic look on her face.

"Arlene, why didn't you just tell me about the deal, and you could have avoided the affair?" 

"I couldn't tell you for two reasons. First, you might try and talk me out of it but I was dead set on going through with it, Austen. Second, that wouldn't solve Traylor's problem. He would have even less reason to trust me," she replied, again with a wince.

"So you were willing to pimp yourself out for $550,000, is that it?" I asked sharply.

"That and getting a Pissarro for four years, and a Sisley for as long as I wanted; although at the time I didn't think of it as 'pimping myself out,' although that is a legitimate outlook," she replied with her brow furrowed.

"Arlene, why did you outdo yourself in fucking me the nights before you saw Traylor?"

"Several reasons, and they could all stand on their own as 'the' reason. One, it was really fun. I've always enjoyed sex with you more than any other man before I met you, or than with Traylor. Two, because I felt guilty about what I was about to do, or was doing. Three, because I hoped that it would throw you off about what I was doing; I guess the last one didn't work," she responded, for the first time her voice really cracking with emotion.

My mind was spinning even more. I found myself believing every fucked-up thing she was saying, but it brought back some of the hurt of her betrayal. "So you got no pleasure at all from fucking Traylor?" I sarcastically asked.

"I didn't say that; and there's no reason to get sarcastic, we're done," she shot back, her emotion changing from chagrin to anger. "Yes, I enjoyed – at least physically, with no emotional involvement – the sex with him the first three nights. And since you're going to ask, I fucked him twice each of the first three nights, with condoms, but with him taking photos. The fourth night I wasn't in the mood but the deal with him was for four times, and he seemed to be enjoying the sex with me more than I thought that he would. That night he got me drunk and then fucked me when I was powerless to stop him. The reason I got home so late was because I fell asleep in a drunken stupor, and didn't wake up until quarter to three, and then immediately left while he was snoring away. That time I didn't get any enjoyment," she retorted, now displaying all of anger, hurt, chagrin, and guilt.

I wasn't about to let her off the hook, though. "You had to know by the fourth time that I knew about you, so his threat of showing me photos and ruining our marriage was moot. Why did you leave, even after I pleaded with you?"

After a long delay she replied. "That's the toughest question, isn't it? I almost came back in the house; but I didn't want to screw up the deal with Traylor after going three quarters through with it, and I didn't know for sure that you knew since I thought that we were very careful in where we went, and what we did."

"Including fucking in his pool?" I asked incredulously.

"He told me that there were no vantage points where people could see over his fence, and that the houses on either side were vacant – and they did have "For Sale" signs on them. Anyway, I went to see him the fourth time with the intention of telling him that I had to get home early that night, but I was so emotionally distraught that he took advantage of it by getting me plastered before he nailed me."

Arlene looked down and when I started to say something she held up her hand, a gesture indicating "Stop, I'm not done!" Indeed she wasn't. When she looked up the tears were visible. "Plus, I thought that you loved me enough that we could overcome it. I'm primarily to blame but what you did was a gross over-reaction if you really did love me the way that you said you did. Why do you think I convinced Traylor to come to our house to talk to you, to lay it all out to save our marriage, even when I knew the judge might get pissed at me, and even though I had to threaten him with blowing the entire deal unless he helped me out? You fucked up both our lives, and more importantly those of our daughters, you fucking asshole! They need me!"

I was stunned; she got up, walked around the table we were sitting at a few times, getting the hairy eyeball from the guards, and then returned.

In a much more conciliatory voice, since her rant was not totally uncalled for, I asked "So where are we now? Divorced, our kids without their mother, AND your deal out the window?"

"That's why you're here. I told you the rest just to get it off my chest and so that you'll believe what I tell you next," she responded, trying as hard as possible to be calm. "The deal is not dead. If you check the storage facility where you had all my stuff moved to you will see that all of my jewelry and some paintings are gone. I had your sister Jen..." at that she stopped when she saw the shocked expression on my face.

"Yeah, that's right, YOUR sister. She's a mother too, and the only one in your family that has a conscience; she sold the stuff for me, raised the $50,000 I needed, and completed the deal with Pete on my behalf. The Pissarro, Sisley, and Pete's other paintings are now in the storage facility, and Pete died a month after the sale was consummated."

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. 

"The transaction was completed after our divorce was final so you have no claim to any of Pete's properties, but what I'm telling you is that when I sell the Pissarro as soon as I get out of here I'll be completely funding Justine and Cybil's college education funds. In the meantime have Jen get the Pissarro and Sisley works out and display them in what used to be our house, and send me photos of them."

I must have repeated "Holy Shit" a dozen more times as I stared blankly into space. Arlene just sat with her arms crossed, leaning back in her chair, with her own blank stare.

"WOW!" I said. "What you say probably wouldn't have changed things at the time because I was so angry and resentful. It does change things going forward, though."

I got up to leave. "One last thing, Austen," she mildly stated. "From my perspective I screwed up the 'forsaking all others' part of our marriage vows, but you screwed up the 'for better or for worse' part."

I stood looking over her face, now returned to a neutral expression. "I have a lot to think about. I want to visit with you, again just the two of us after you see the girls, in two weeks. Are you OK with that?"

"Yes, I'm OK with that," she replied.

We both turned and simply walked away.

My mind was in such uproar that I got no sleep that Sunday night and stayed home from work the next two days. On Tuesday I asked Jen to show me the Pissarro and Sisley – and they sure looked legitimate to me. I had prepared myself mentally to not in any way pass judgment on Jen for anything – I treated her as the person – besides my daughters – who I loved most in the world, because I did.




A "Jewel" of a Wife Ch. 02



On Wednesday I did something I never thought that I'd do. I made an appointment to see the prosecutor, Gillian Hogan, who put Arlene behind bars, on Friday for lunch.

When I showed up at Gillian's office at 11:45 on Friday I got an unexpectedly warm greeting. She smiled broadly and gave me a hug. I had been in her office many times before and noticed that the photos of her husband were no longer on her desk; that made me look at her left hand. There no longer were rings on her ring finger, although there was a small emerald ring on her right hand ring finger.

She agreed to let me treat her to lunch. I took her to the best restaurant in our fair city. Since she obviously was no longer married, I was horny as hell, and I had enormous respect for her, as we chatted I looked at her for the first time as a woman, not a prosecutor.

Like both Arlene and me, she was basically ordinary looking, although slightly prettier, taller, and fitter, than average. Outside of a business setting she was also extremely charming and – for lack of a better word – flirtatious. She was also candid, something I appreciated and knew that I had to return in kind.

As we were consuming our culinary delights she asked, "So, Austen, why did you want to see me? It wasn't just to see how much expensive food I could put away, was it?"

"Actually, I have a business reason to talk to you. But, to be honest I never looked at you with a romantic interest before, but since you are now obviously divorced, and I clearly am, that has changed," I replied.

"Bullshit," she laughed, but I noticed a reddening of her cheeks.

"Bullshit that you're divorced?" I asked, then immediately stuffed my mouth with capon.

"No, my husband cheated almost as badly as your wife, and I found out right after Arlene's trial, so I am divorced. 'Bullshit' that you could have a romantic interest in me," she smiled then filled her face with risotto. 

"I'll explore that later," I chuckled. "You're right; I do have a business reason for asking you to lunch. I completely misread how difficult things would be for my girls without their mother. It's killing them – especially my ten year old, Justine. Is there any way that Arlene's sentence can be reduced? I don't think that they can make it four years. If I had known I would have asked you, and the Court, for leniency in sentencing."

Gillian's eyes got wide. She sat back in the booth, finished chewing and swallowing what was in her mouth, and then said "We just got a memo yesterday about overcrowding in our prisons, and the terrible cost to taxpayers. I have a shrink I can recommend you send your kids to. Do that, and once I get her report I'll tell you if there is anything I can do."

"No shit! I mean, no kidding!" I exclaimed, truly stunned.

"It may require that we interact some more, though," she deadpanned, giving me a sultry look as she stuck a thick breadstick into her mouth and then sucked on it for a few seconds before biting it.

After I walked Gillian back to her office after lunch she gave me the name and contact information for the shrink she had mentioned, Dr. Wilson. I made sure to make contact with her hand and hold it while she handed the slip of paper to me. She didn't move her hand away.

"Thanks, Gillian," I said staring her in the eye. "If it's not a conflict of interest, could you have dinner with me tomorrow, Saturday, night?"

"It's no conflict, but you are taking a chance," she replied with an evil grin. "I haven't had sex since I filed for divorce seven months ago and I'm really aggressive."

"I'll take my chances," I said, trying to match her grin. "I'll pick you up at seven. What's your home address?"

As she turned and wrote down her home address and cell numbers I "inadvertently" put my hand on the small of her back, and it just happened to trail down her ass when she stood up."

"Maybe I'm the one who should be worried," she said with an even more diabolical grin as she handed me the slip of paper. I grinned back, turned and walked out, calling over my shoulder as I got to the door, "See you at seven – dress sexy."

Now my mind was in a different type of turmoil. 

First things first. I called Dr. Wilson and made an appointment for after school the next Wednesday. Then I went and worked out at the gym to keep from being preoccupied about getting laid the next night.

As I knew she would, Jen was happy to have Justine and Cybil spend the night Saturday at her house. She was the closest thing the kids had to a mother, and they were always more upbeat at her house.

I cleaned and dressed myself better Saturday evening than I had since before my divorce. I had high expectations, and when I arrived to pick up Gillian she did NOT disappoint.

Instead of her hair up in a bun like she always wore it at work, it flowed around her neck and over her shoulders. It sparkled. When she flipped her head and it shimmered it was a complete turn-on.

With light makeup on she had highlighted all of the best features of her face, and something I had never really noticed before were her lizard-like enchanting bright green eyes.

Then there was that short, tight, slinky, black dress. Her thighs and ass looked magnificent; it was like she changed from an ordinary woman into ultra-sexy Catwoman!

I blurted out "WOW, you look awesome!" 

"You clean up well yourself," she smiled.

We went to a restaurant that had dancing. After ordering hor d'oeuvres and drinks, we danced. After we ate the hor d'oeuvres and virtually chugged our drinks we danced again. By the second slow dance my cock was unmistakably poking her crotch as she leaned into me with her five inch heels lining us up perfectly. I gently kissed her lips; she kissed mine; then for the first time in my life on a first date (if that was what this was) my companion whispered into my ear "You know, we don't have to eat dinner here. We can just go back to my place and fuck."

I had paid the bill for the meal we hadn't eaten, and we were in the car back to her townhouse, within two minutes flat.

We started tearing each other's clothes off before we made it through her front door. By the time that we reached the couch in her living room we were both naked except for my socks and for her high heels, which she obviously intentionally kept on. 

I pushed her down on the couch and dove into her honey pot, working all fingers, my tongue, and lips at the same time, like a starving man attacking his first meal in a month. She was clearly horny and loved oral, because she orgasmed three times within five minutes. By then my cock was hurting and she was yelling "Fuck me!"

In the throes of passion, I surprised myself – and shocked her – by throwing a couch pillow onto the rug, turning her upside down so that her face and arms were on the pillow, and while holding her legs up in the air shoved my cock "down" her pussy. She groaned, screamed, moaned, and cried out, sometimes seemingly all at the same time, as I pumped my cock in and out of her cunt with as much energy as I could muster. We were both so anxious that it didn't take long before I was grunting and filling her pussy with cum and she was virtually convulsing in orgasm.

I was so drained that I slowly sank to my knees, my cock still buried in her fabulous channel. I slowly reciprocated, each movement getting a little yelp or moan from Gillian, until I finally went flaccid and completely withdrew.

We lay in each other's arms for the longest time, our bodies sweating and occasionally twitching, before either of us spoke. Finally Gillian said "What the fuck was that?"

"'The Wheelbarrow' is what some people call it," I smiled.

"Was the purpose to overload every nerve ending in my body?" she smiled back.

"Yeah, fry all your circuits – did it work?" I asked.

"Hell yes. I'll probably never be able to think again," she laughed.

It was the best sexual experience of my life except for the four Thursday guilt and passion-laden fucks with Arlene just before our breakup, with the promise of even better things to come. Gillian and I weren't familiar with each other's bodies yet, but we spent the rest of the day and the next morning trying to make up for that.

By the time that we rolled out of her bed at ten the next morning I knew where all of her erogenous zones were, I knew that her left nipple was more sensitive than her right one and capable of causing her to climax when sucked, that she loved being the fucker as much as being the fuckee, and that anal was definitely in our future.

I talked Gillian into going with me to pick up my kids at Jen's house, and then taking them to an amusement park. Both Jen and Bill recognized Gillian from Arlene's trial, and were taken aback by how friendly she was to them and their kids. After a little apprehension, Justine and Cybil really warmed up to Gillian, to the extent that they were soon arguing about who would sit next to her on the next ride.

Justine and Cybil were passed out with exhaustion by the time that I dropped Gillian off Sunday night.

"Thanks; this was the best weekend I can remember," she genuinely said as we held hands on her front stoop.

"You are beyond awesome," I replied. "You've quadrupled my happiness in just two days!"

We exchanged short but soulful kisses, and then I said "We're seeing Dr. Wilson Wednesday. Can I see you again Friday during the day and Saturday night? We'll be going to see Arlene on Sunday."

"As long as you know that you'll be fucking me, I'm on board," she grinned.

After another short kiss I turned and left, waving goodbye over my shoulder.

It was all I could do to carry my sleeping angels into their beds. I didn't even bother to take their dresses off, figuring I'd just get them cleaned and pressed next week, before I collapsed into my bed, also fully clothed, and went out like a light.

Monday the three of us, Justine, Cybil, and me, awoke with an energy and glow that we hadn't had since the divorce was initiated. Things moved quickly.

Dr. Wilson gave Gillian a report that the girls were suffering with their mother in jail, and that Justine especially would need constant counseling if she could deal with it at all. I provided an affidavit that said that I was more than willing to provide liberal visitation by Arlene, and that I had arranged for her to get a job as a paralegal with the law firm that handled most of my company's legal work.

After Gillian and I shared two completely earth-shattering simultaneous orgasms Saturday night she told me that the chances were good that she could get Arlene released on probation within a month. For that she received the best massage a non-professional like myself could manage; then I stimulated her clit and nipples until she begged for mercy.

After the girls visited Arlene on Sunday, I went in. I didn't want to beat around the bush.

"Arlene, here are the psychiatrist's reports on Justine and Cybil, my affidavit, and a letter offering you a paralegal's job from Johnson and Dunn. I've talked to your prosecutor, Gillian Hogan, and she is willing to file a motion with the Court next week asking for your supervised release."

I remained silent while Arlene looked over the documents. She started to cry. Then I showed her photographs of the Pissarro painting and Sisley sketch hanging at prominent places in her former home. She broke down and sobbed openly into her arms, folded on the table. The guards looked at her but didn't intervene.

I put my hand on one of her hands. She looked up. "Thank you," she said about ten times.

"I'm pleased to try and help. I hope that you know that just because Gillian is going to ask for relief that the Court may not grant it. So don't get your hopes up too much," I said softly.

"With your affidavit, the doctor's report, and prison overcrowding I don't see how the judge can refuse," she replied. "But I'll keep my expectations down until the decision; and don't tell the girls."

"I won't," I responded with a big smile. We squeezed hands, I picked up the papers, and just before I left I felt obligated to tell her one more thing.

"So it doesn't come as a surprise to you later, Gillian Hogan and I are lovers. I'm not sure where it's going, but it is going somewhere."

Arlene recovered from her initial shock, then smiled and genuinely said "I'm happy for you. I hope that it works out."

_______________ 

Things moved quickly – on all fronts – after my second meeting with Arlene. Gillian filed her motion on Monday, got a hearing scheduled for Tuesday morning of the next week, and shared the entire weekend in between with the girls and me, including a fun "sleepover" both Friday and Saturday nights.

I attended the hearing to provide testimony in addition to my affidavit if the judge required it. He did. I answered all of his questions completely, even tearing up – part real, part acting – at certain points during my testimony. I told him that my daughters were my life and that allowing them to be with their Mom outside of prison would be the best thing possible for them.

The judge granted Gillian's motion, ordered Arlene's release from prison the next Saturday, put her on probation for four years conditioned on her keeping a job and staying out of trouble, and entered the liberal visitation order I had asked for.

I gave the kids the good news that afternoon, and Gillian got special dispensation from the warden for Justine and Cybil to call her that night. Both girls and Arlene cried their eyes out with tears of joy.

I rented an apartment for Arlene that was as close to our house as possible, had her stuff from storage moved there, and picked her up at the prison on Saturday. I insisted that Gillian accompany us.

All of us went out for dinner, and I agreed to let the girls spend Arlene's first night home in her apartment. Gillian and I picked up Arlene's car – which I had used occasionally and kept at our house – and dropped it off at her apartment so that she could bring the kids back to our house Sunday afternoon.

When Gillian returned with me to my house Saturday night we made a simple dinner and then sat down for a heart-to-heart.

"Gillian; we both value directness, so I'm going to be candid; and don't give me any of those sultry looks that you're famous for while I'm talking, got it?"

"Yes sir," she replied with a smile and fake salute.

"We're moving fast; but it's not too fast for me. I got to know you very well as a person when we worked together surrounding Gillian's trial. I've gotten to know you as a woman in the last month. You're everything that I could want; I've fallen in love with you. I want you to move in with me, and ultimately if you decide that I'm worthy of you, marry me."

"WOW!" she whistled. "I thought that I was outspoken, but I'm a novice compared to you!"

"Well...." I said since she wasn't saying anything more.

"You'll probably find out I'm not that great after a few months, but if you're stupid enough to still want to marry me after six months of living together, I will. But I'm not selling my townhouse unless we do end up hitched."

Without further ado I picked Gillian up, ripped her clothes off as I carried her to "our" bedroom, and had the best fuck (actually two fucks) of my life!



A "Jewel" of a Wife



With a cold stare I said "Probably to get proof of your infidelity," then quickly exited, without looking back.

The photos of Arlene and her fuck buddy (Jack Traylor was his name) from her second and third Friday nights out were exactly what I had imagined, although the exact location surprised me a little. The P. I. said he might have trouble getting photos useable as evidence of them in the act if they only did it indoors. They were stupid enough to fuck on the deck of, and in, his swimming pool, easily seen from many vantage points where they could not expect privacy.

Also in his report was the fact that they arrived at Traylor's house after dinner on Friday night, and they apparently left in Arlene's car a little before 11:00 p.m. The P I didn't follow them, but they did get back about 2:15 a. m., then she left alone about 3:00 a.m.

I went to Kinko's, made three copies of everything except a DVD, then went to see officer Smithson. I got there about 1:15. He immediately introduced me to detective June Grayson, a robbery detective who was as good looking as the women cops on T. V., one that I didn't think existed in real life. She was not only hot, but smart.

After reviewing my evidence, without me prompting her, Grayson said "Looks like your wife and this Traylor guy were 'out' at the time of your burglary. Your security system computer indicated that all systems were turned off at 11:05 p. m. Just to cover all my bases, where were you then?"

"I was at my sister's house," I nonchalantly replied.

"Can anyone there vouch for that?" she asked.

"I don't think so," I responded, "I think that they were all asleep. But you can ask them." Then I got a "Eureka" look on my face and said "Wait; I think that Bill – my brother – has security cameras, and at some point I went to my car to get some pills I had forgotten. Maybe that will give you a time line."

"Can we get the tape from your brother?" Grayson inquired.

I laughed. "I think that Bill is hi-tech. I'll bet it's a DVD," I said as I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Jen's house. Bill answered.

"Say, Bill, do you have security camera tapes from your house for last night?" I laughed again at his response. "Is it possible for you to bring the DVD – sorry to insult you by asking for a tape – to detective Grayson at the local precinct? I'll let her tell you why when you drop it off, I've got to take the kids to the park. Thanks."

I smiled at Grayson and Smithson. "Just as I thought, he's hi-tech and has a DVD. He said that he'd bring it right over. Unless you have something else real important to ask, I've got to go take the kids to the park."

"Thanks, Mr. Weston," Grayson said with a smile and standing up to shake my hand. "We'll let you know in the next few days if we need anything else."

"I'll be around," I said, smiling back and shaking her and Smithson's hands. "I know you that you know what you're doing, but as I told Officer Smithson last night, you need access to Arlene's computer and desk drawers. I'd love it if you got a warrant for those – and my computer and desk too to cover your bases."

Grayson just grinned.

I dropped the original of my evidence, including the only copy of the DVD of Arlene and Traylor screwing, at my lawyer's office – he always works on Saturday. I just told him to put it in his safe for now. I brought the other two copies home. As soon as I got in I put one in my desk and left the other one – without the report of Friday night – on the coffee table in the living room.

I took the kids to the park and Arlene insisted on going with us. She tried to talk to me when the kids were playing but every time that she did I simply ignored her and went over to the kids and pushed them on the swing, started playing tag with them, or doing something similar.

I made dinner that night and asked the kids to help, so that I didn't have to be alone with Arlene. After dinner I played games with them, read them bedtime stories, and finally had to leave them.

When I went downstairs Arlene had the envelope I left on the coffee table in her hands. She was white as a ghost.

"Austen, we really need to talk," she said, her voice crackling.

"Why?" I asked with a dramatic confused look. "Will us talking make you un-fuck Traylor?"

I grabbed my car keys and left as she yelled "You know that this is a no-fault state and I'll get the kids if you divorce me. We can work this out."

My only response was to flip her the bird. When I got back four hours later I went straight to the guest room, propped a chair against the door knob, and went to sleep.

Sunday was probably the most uncomfortable day of my life. It's really hard to ignore someone in the same room with you for several hours, but unless the kids were there I never responded to anything she had to say.

Sunday night, after the kids were in bed, I was watching T. V. when she came up to me with an insurance claim form. "I need you to sign this so that I can fax it to the insurance company to get reimbursement for our stolen property. I looked at it, got a pen and paper and wrote down the fax number and department of the insurance company, then said the only words, without the kids present, I spoke to her all day. "I'm not signing it and if you forge my signature I'll have you arrested for fraud."

As Arlene screamed at me I continued watching T. V. When her noise was too loud I got out the headphones, plugged them into the T. V. and ignored her. She eventually left, crying.

I saw her go to the fax machine and send out the claim form. After she went to bed I wrote a letter faxed to the same address she sent the form.

My letter read: "While at the present time I do not have any definitive proof, I suspect that my wife is responsible for the burglary and loss that she reported to you in a claim form earlier tonight. I am NOT making any claim until the police investigation is complete, and if anyone submits a document with my signature before then you can be sure that it is a forgery. Call me on my cellphone, xxx-xxx-xxxx, if you have questions."

Monday night at dinner detective Grayson and four other cops showed up with a warrant. I had the kids go outside on our deck to finish their meal telling them "The police just want to get your stuff back." They were happy with that, especially since I told them that they could have a soft drink on the deck, something we almost never allowed them to have.

When they found Arlene's desk drawers locked Grayson asked us "Who has a key for this?"

"I have the only one," Arlene nervously replied.

"I need you to open it," Grayson ordered.

"Why?" Arlene asked.

"Because the warrant says we can look in it, and I don't want to ruin your furniture.

Arlene went to her purse, got her keys, and unlocked the drawers. The procedure was repeated for my desk. Arlene was frantic when they took her computer, while I was calm when they took mine. She was hysterical when she saw them pull an envelope from a storage rental facility from her desk.

"What is that?" she screamed. "I've never seen that before."

"I thought that you have the only key," Grayson deadpanned.

"I do – someone must have picked the lock."

"Easy to determine. We'll take the drawer with the lock cylinder with us and have our techs evaluate it," Grayson nonchalantly replied.

Obviously, that was not the response Arlene wanted, but that was what was going to happen.

When the cops left, Arlene was frantic. "Why are they doing that – what does the warrant say?" she agonized.

I handed her the warrant and said "Maybe they think that the theft was an inside job." She looked shocked as I turned and went out on the deck with the kids.

Tuesday was a real bad day for Arlene; her only highlight was driving the kids to school. About 11:00 a. m. she was served at work with divorce papers, citing adultery. At 2:00 p. m., detective Grayson and two other cops arrived to arrest her for theft, and escorted her out of her office in cuffs.

Tuesday morning Detective Grayson had called me to come to a storage facility about ten minutes from our house to identify our stolen property. It took me about thirty seconds to identify it as ours. Then I went through it all and found that except for my Rolex watch and a set of gold cufflinks everything was there.

Detective Grayson called me after the arrest to let me know what happened so that I wouldn't be left wondering and so that I could pick up the kids. Arlene appeared before a magistrate late that afternoon and was granted $50,000 bail. She called me.

"Austen, I'm calling you from jail, please don't hang up," Arlene begged.

"I didn't know that adultery was illegal. Why are you in jail, Arlene?" I sarcastically asked, already knowing the answer.

"They think that I robbed our house, it's ridiculous," she cried.

"I don't think it's ridiculous. Didn't you do it because you were planning on leaving me?" I gleefully asked.

"No, no, that's absurd. We can talk about it later. Can you come down to bail me out? If we both agree to use the house as collateral I can be free in an hour. Please Austen."

"Why don't you call your lover Traylor, I'm sure that he can help," I snipped just before I hung up as she started screaming "No..."

My attorney filed for an emergency protective order on Wednesday morning while Arlene was still in jail. Either she didn't call Traylor or he wouldn't help, I didn't care which it was. My attorney asked the Court for the order of protection saying that Arlene was charged with stealing my property, and that of the children, so she shouldn't be allowed in the house.

The judge won't hear the case until Arlene got out on bail. Apparently she got her parents to post it and on Thursday was freed, with instructions to go straight to the Family Law Court for a hearing on the order of protection.

Arlene's attorney argued that she should have the presumption of innocence on the theft charges and had never physically harmed any family member, or even threatened it. My attorney argued that the two most expensive items of my jewelry were missing and she could be presumed to steal other things. The Judge's ruling sort of split the baby.

"We do have to recognize the presumption of innocence; however Mr. Weston still has a right to feel that his property is secure. Therefore, Mrs. Weston may return to the marital home while the divorce proceedings progress. However, she may not return until Saturday. In the meantime Mr. Weston can have any room of the house locked with a new lock that Mrs. Weston does not have a key to, and she is prohibited from ever entering that room. Notify the Court of the room by Monday. Anything else?"

I prodded my attorney for another stipulation.

"Your honor, my client would like to be sure that Mr. Traylor, the individual with whom Mrs. Weston is having an affair, be precluded from entering the Weston home or have any contact with the Weston children until the divorce proceedings are final," he said.

"I won't bring him there, or with the children," Arlene yelled, jumping up from her chair, perplexing her attorney and the judge.

"Mrs. Weston has agreed that she won't, so that should satisfy you Mr. Weston," the judge said.

I wanted to yell "I can't believe anything that lying cunt says," but fortunately restrained myself.

I had Lowe's put in a new door to the master bedroom and re-enforce the surrounding frame. I also had a sophisticated lock installed in it, one that was almost impossible to pick. I moved all of Arlene's clothes to the guestroom. 

Arlene did come home Saturday morning. The kids were glad to see her. I basically ignored her except interacting when necessary for care of the children and so as to upset the children the least possible.

Arlene wanted to talk. I told her "Sunday night after the kids go to bed." We talked in the den with the door closed so if there were raised voices it wouldn't wake the kids.

After sitting in silence for a couple of awkward minutes I said "Arlene, you're the one who wanted to talk – talk!"

"Uh, Austen, I can't help but think that you're behind this theft..." she started out before I cut her off.

"Whoa! The first words I wanted out of your mouth were 'I'm so sorry for cheating on you, Austen, and for hurting you so badly and destroying our marriage.' I guess you don't feel that, though do you?" I said sarcastically.

"Austen, once you calm down we can talk about re-kindling our love, and dismiss this talk of divorce, but first I have to get out of my legal problem."

"Arlene. Let me make this so clear that even someone as egotistical and self-centered as you are can understand. There is no 'talk' of divorce; I'm divorcing you, plain and simple. We're done," I said as forcefully as possible.

"But, Austen..." she started to plead. I again shut her down.

"The only way that this talk will be productive is if you listen to, and accept, my proposal," I said even more forcefully. "Are you ready to listen?"

She nodded her head.

"I will change the grounds of divorce to irreconcilable differences. I will get sole custody of the children but you will have unlimited visitation, alternate major holidays, and two weeks in the summer as long as you do not expose them to any other man – unless you are married to him. Our assets will be split 50-50, you will pay child support for one child, and will pay ½ toward the mortgage on the house. Once Cybil reaches nineteen we will sell the house and split the proceeds. There will be no alimony either way," I said boring a hole through her head with my stare.

"But..." she started again, and I again cut her off.

"I'm not finished. If you agree to this I'll go to the D. A. and beg her to plead you down to a misdemeanor with no jail time, if you plead 'no contest.' That way you'll be able to keep your law license, and your job. Deal?" I concluded.

"But I didn't do anything," she said, crying and wringing her hands. "I know you orchestrated this whole thing to get back at me. I don't want a divorce, but if there is to be one there is no way in hell that I'll agree to you having sole custody," she wailed through her tears.

"So you won't take responsibility for anything, breaking up the marriage or the theft, huh?" I asked, raising my voice as I stood up. "And you're not even the least bit remorseful, are you, like I should be happy to be your cuckold. God, how could I ever have married you in the first place," I moaned.

As she buried her face in her hands I said "Take this deal, Arlene. If you don't you'll be ruined."

As I walked out the door she yelled "But if you'd just listen to me I'd explain everything; you have to listen!"

At least that's what I think that she said, but before she'd finished I'd closed the den door shut and can't be sure.

Two days later when I arrived home the kids weren't there, but sitting in my family room were Arlene and Jack Traylor.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" I screamed at Arlene, "You told the court you wouldn't bring him here.

"Austen, you have to listen to what the two of us have to say. After you listen he'll leave and never see you again," she whined.

"Get the fuck out, Traylor," I bellowed. He stood up with a hybrid nasty and pleading look. He was about three inches bigger and thirty pounds heavier than I was, but the old saying about it's the size of the fight in the dog, not the size of the dog in the fight, is something I believe in. I had never backed down from a confrontation in my life, even though it got me my ass kicked several times, and this was not going to be the first.

Traylor was trying to say something to me as he slowly approached, but I didn't hear what it was because I kept repeating, at the top of my lungs, "Get the fuck out!"

After yelling my refrain a good two dozen times, it was clear that he was not going to comply so I walked toward the phone and picked up the receiver to call 911. He pulled the phone cord out of the wall and in an irritated voice said, "Will you just listen, damn it?"

I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing 911. He grabbed it out of my hand and threw it down on the floor, breaking, as he said "It will only take two minutes and will give you your life back."

I turned to go out the garage door, through the kitchen. He grabbed my suit jacket, but I squirmed out of it and bolted for the garage. Apparently he didn't see me pick up the meat tenderizing mallet from the kitchen counter.

As I turned left and exited the kitchen to a small breezeway to the garage I came to an abrupt halt and turned around. As soon as he made the same left turn into the breezeway I hit him in the forehead with the mallet, sending him reeling backward against the kitchen sink. As he was screaming and holding his hands up to his head in an attempt to stop the bleeding I kicked him once in the balls with everything I had.

By now, Arlene was in the kitchen sobbing. I saw her purse on the kitchen table, pulled her cell phone out of it and dialed 911. "My emergency is that an uninvited interloper attacked me in my own home and I hit him in the forehead with a mallet. He needs an ambulance and I need the police to arrest him."

I opened the front door and calmly sat at the kitchen table as Arlene attended to Traylor. The paramedics impressed me – they were there in less than five minutes. The police were only a minute behind them.

Traylor was taken away restrained in an ambulance. The police believed my story. I asked them to take my broken cellphone with them to check it for fingerprints to confirm my story, and the phone line if they needed it. Also, my suit jacket had been ripped in the process and I asked them to take that for evidence, too.

All that Arlene could tell the police – something she repeated over and over through her tears – was "We just wanted to talk to him."

The next day my attorney was in court again. The judge was pissed and ordered Arlene to vacate the house within two days and to pay for changing the locks. Visitation with her kids would have to wait until after the divorce proceedings were concluded. The judge continued the divorce until the criminal case against Arlene was finalized.

I talked detective Grayson into getting a search warrant for Traylor's car and house, and Arlene's car. In Traylor's car they found my gold cufflinks and in Arlene's trunk they found a present with "Jack" and a heart on a tag. Inside the present was my Rolex watch. 

Traylor was arrested for theft too in view of the cufflinks, and because when fingerprint results from my house came back the only fingerprints on the basement window with which the thief gained access to my house were his.

Arlene didn't follow my advice and accept my proposal, but fought the criminal case. Apparently she believed – rightly so as it turned out – that the only way that she could get custody of the kids was to win the criminal trial.

The prosecution had a great case. A woman with a gaudy emerald ring and blond hair (both just like Arlene's) rented the storage facility that the stolen property was found shortly after Arlene's first "team building exercise." Only Arlene's prints were found on the lock at the storage facility. That, along with the evidence earlier discussed, made a nice prima facie case for the prosecution.

Arlene and Traylor took the stand in their defense. Arlene admitted to four sexual encounters with Traylor but maintained that she never left his house until 3:00 a. m. the last Friday so that the P. I.'s testimony was fabricated. She maintained that I must have stolen the stuff and set her up. She couldn't explain how I could do that since she admitted that she didn't think that I had a key to the safe or her desk drawer, and her keys were always in her possession. She explained the storage facility rental as a case of mistaken identity. She said her fingerprints were planted on the lock.




A "Jewel" of a Wife



Both Traylor and Arlene came off as belligerent and unconcerned about the effect of her cheating on her family.

I was grilled by defense counsel for three hours. The prosecutor and detective Grayson said that I did very well. They said that I came out as strong but cooperative, and very credible.

After my cross-examination the prosecution put on detective Grayson to explain that there was no way that I could have committed the theft. She said the DVD at Jen and Bill's house showed me entering there at 11:02 p.m., not leaving, and my car not leaving, yet the break-in occurred (as indicated by the alarm system being deactivated) at 11:05. In a dozen tests, the fastest that any patrolman had been able to get to my house from Jen and Bill's at that time of night was nine minutes and thirty two seconds.

Detective Grayson also testified that I did not have a key to the safe. The only two were the one Arlene had in her purse and the one in the safe deposit box. She testified that I had not even visited the safe deposit box for more than three months, before the first "team building" session.

An expert confirmed that Bill's DVD was recording the time accurately, as was my alarm system.

Once the case went to the jury Arlene and Traylor sensed that things were not going to go their way and tried to make a deal with the prosecutor for misdemeanors – just what I suggested to Arlene. Arlene even agreed to give me sole custody of the kids. The prosecutor asked for my opinion. I told her "You're in charge, but after she put us through the expense and trouble of a trial, if it were up to me I'd let the jury decide." That's what she did.

The jury came back with a verdict in less than two hours. They were found guilty on all counts, including theft and insurance fraud for Arlene, and theft and assault for Traylor. 

Arlene was sentenced to three years in jail and probation for five years, and the bar association started disbarment proceedings against her since she had been convicted of a felony. 

Since Traylor had two misdemeanor convictions in his background and since the assault against me was a "special circumstance" because it was in my home, he got four years in jail and probation for five years, and was ordered to pay restitution for my cell phone and suit jacket.

After the criminal trial the divorce was a slam dunk. All of Arlene's pleas – through her attorney since she was in jail – fell on deaf ears. The marriage was dissolved based upon adultery. I got full custody of the kids, paid up child support for three years and more when Arlene got out of prison, and the house. The rest of our assets (before Arlene's criminal defense costs) were split 50-50. She was ordered to pay my attorney's fees.

As my brother and best friend, Bill, and I walked out of the courtroom he had a big smile on his face.

"What's with the shit-eating grin?" I asked. 

"How did you do it, Austen. You can tell me now!" he expectantly replied.

"Do what?" I laughed.

_________________ 

What I wouldn't tell Bill, but will tell you, is that of course I set up the entire "theft" thing.

I was very suspicious of the "team building" lie the first time I heard it. I confirmed that it was a lie by having a co-worker call HR at Arlene's office; if HR never heard of it I concluded that it was bogus.

The first Friday night of the "team building" I had already hired a local high school senior as a babysitter. She came over as soon as Arlene left. I paid her $50 for sitting and $100 to never tell anyone that she did sit that night.

Arlene's cell phone gives out a signal that an app on my smartphone picks up, and I made sure that it was working before she left that Friday night. As soon as the sitter arrived I tracked Arlene down using that app. I found her and a guy I had never seen at a restaurant that I had never even heard of. I went in with a disguise on, cornered a bus boy, and gave him $100 to bring me a glass that Arlene's "date" had handled and drank from.

I waited until Arlene and her date exited the restaurant. I saw them kiss before she got in his car. Still in the disguise I walked in back of the car and photographed the license plate with my cell phone.

By Monday afternoon I knew that Arlene's date was Jack Traylor, and where he lived. I hired a private eye to follow Arlene the 2nd and 3rd Fridays, and it is then that he got the photos of them fucking by his pool. I told the P. I. that I did not want his report – so I could claim that I had no actual proof until then – until the day after her fourth Friday "team building" session.

I had a plan in place – including how to get custody of the kids if we divorced – by Sunday night.

The first Monday, before I left for work, I removed Arlene's distinctive emerald ring from her jewelry box. She never wore it to work, but did whenever she went out. I paid an actress who was the same size as Arlene, and who wore a wig with the same color and style of hair as Arlene and sported her emerald ring on her finger, to rent a storage facility cube in Arlene's name, paying three months cash in advance.

By Tuesday I had purchased some key impressioning clay. While Arlene was sleeping that night I snuck her keys out of her purse and got impressions of her house safe and house desk keys. The next day I got home from work early and using alloy slug, a cheap metal that melts and then solidifies quickly, made copihhes of those keys. 

Wearing gloves, I laid out a new padlock that night and asked Arlene if she had ever seen it or the key for it. She picked them both up, looked at them, and said, no I don't think so. Why?"

"If you don't have another use for it I want to use it to lock my tool box, OK?" I replied.

"Sure," she responded and walked away. I put the lock in a plastic bag hoping that her fingerprints would remain on it and the key.

Two days before the theft with reflectors I marked obstacles in a path through the woods between my house and Jen's.

The day before the theft I opened up her desk drawer and put the storage facility envelope with the code for getting into the facility front door, and the key with her fingerprints on it [I had another made for me at a hardware store], into the drawer. 

I had the same actress who rented the facility for me rent a van with a motorcycle rack on the back, and had her boyfriend rent me a dirt bike. I parked the dirt bike in a clump of trees in back of Jen and Bill's house. 

I also got the password for Arlene's laptop from the list of passwords in her locked deck, set up a new email account, and left a draft email in the account allegedly for Jack Traylor. The email said that she couldn't wait to get together with him and if their plan worked they would be able to live off of my stolen property while she got a divorce.

I paid the actress and her boyfriend to be on call the 4th Friday night of the "team building" sessions to walk from the side of Traylor's house and using the extra key for Arlene's car drive it away. Before doing that I had the boyfriend ready to open up Traylor's car using a car "lockout tool," and drop my gold cufflinks between the passenger side door and seat. I had also placed a wrapped box with "Jack" on the tag for it and my Rolex watch inside in the trunk of Arlene's car.

Earlier that day I had parked the rented van in my garage and disabled the automatic garage door opener.

Two days earlier I had placed Traylor's fingerprints – from the glass at the restaurant – onto the basement window that would allow access. I found that to be much simpler than I imagined it would be. Instructions on the Internet (obtained via a library computer, not mine), cocoa powder, a shallow bowl, and a small paintbrush were all that I needed. Plus a little patience. I apparently did a good enough job to fool the cops.

Up until my talk with Arlene begging her not to go out the 4th Friday I had not decided to actually pull everything off. I honestly believe that if she had stayed home that night and pulled the plug on her relationship with Traylor that we had at least a 50-50 chance that we could have made it (although I would have gotten revenge on him, somehow). When she not only went but gave me the comment about her getting the kids if I tried to divorce her, my love for her instantly evaporated and I set the plan in motion.

The only assistance that Bill provided – unknowingly – was to, a few weeks before the theft, answer my questions about the only part of his house that the cameras did not pick up; namely, a particular basement window that had fake metal bars on it.

I had already received a communication from the actress that she and her boyfriend had left Traylor's house before 11:00 p.m. Traylor had left several windows in his car open since it was a hot night, so her boyfriend did not even have to break into the car to leave the cufflinks.

By the time that I had returned to Bill's house from my car at 11:02 I had already opened the hidden basement window. I quickly exited it, ran to the dirt bike, cut through the woods at over 40 mph knowing that the reflectors would warn me of obstacles, and got to the basement window of my house that I had earlier defeated the alarm for and planted Traylor's fingerprints on. Using gloves for everything I first pulled out the phone line, then detached the battery, then turned off the backup generator, then turned off the main power switch.

I used the key I had made from Arlene's to open the safe. Since I knew where everything was and the van was in the garage, despite working in the dark I cleaned everything out in less than an hour. I drove to the storage facility, loaded everything into the rented cube there, and put the lock with Arlene's fingerprints on it on the latch. That took only a little more than an hour.

I returned the van to the rental place and left it in the lot and put the keys in the drop box. I caught a cab and had it drop me off a block from my house. I rode the dirt bike back to Bill's house picking up reflectors as I went. I hid the dirt bike in the clump of trees, and climbed back into his house through the same window I had exited and reattached the fake metal bars.

Having Traylor come to my house and do what he did was an unexpected bonus.

I never did find out what motivated Arlene to have the affair with Traylor, nor anything else about it. I guess if I had ever listened to her or him when they were anxious to talk with me I would have found out. However, once she spurned me when I gave her the last clear chance I didn't really give a fuck. I got my revenge, now they can live with it.