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And I Love Her

By: Harddaysknight



Even if I live forever, I will never cease to be amazed at how quickly a person's fortunes can change. A week ago, I was happy as a clam. My two kids are both in college and doing well. My wife, Donna, teaches third grade at a local school. She's had the same job since she graduated from college 22 years ago. She's blonde, smart, sexy, funny, beautiful, well.... you get the idea.

We were married the summer Donna finished college. I have never regretted my marriage, not even for a minute. I don't really know why she picked me when she could have any man she wanted, but I'm not complaining. Donna is a wonderful mother and is pretty much responsible for how well our kids turned out.

I work for Art & Paul's Old Fashioned Soda Company. Don't feel bad if you've never heard of it. It's a family company started by two brothers in a garage in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, in1963. No one seems to know exactly where, or how, they developed their formula, but there is no better carbonated soft drink on the planet

The company stayed pretty much a part-time garage business until the early seventies. The demand for their product kept increasing and eventually they moved the business to a bigger building. Today, they have 450 employees and have resisted any further expansion. The family feels it would lose control of the quality of their product if they went "big time".

A few weeks ago, Time Magazine ran an article about the family and the soda they make. I now suspect that story was the catalyst for all my recent problems.

The magazine made a big deal out of how closely the original family formula was guarded. Near the end of the story, my name was mentioned as the guy in charge of security for the company. I had worked for Art and Paul since I got out of the army in 1985. I worked my way up the ladder and three years ago I was named head of security. 

The title sounds good, but the truth is security was never much of an issue, at least not until that damn magazine story. It made our soda sound like the best thing since toilet paper, and that the secret formula is worth millions. Looking at it now, I guess it probably is.

When the story hit the newsstands, interest in our product and how it was made picked up noticeably. Suddenly, my job wasn't so cushy. It became evident that we needed to increase the measures in place to protect the formula.

To that end, I found myself in Las Vegas last week for a trade show on anything, and everything, a company could ever need to ward off corporate spying and espionage. I felt a little like James Bond with Q. That was the guy with inventions, wasn't it? I did pick up some very helpful ideas and even ordered some equipment and software for the company.

The last day of the show was Saturday. By Saturday evening, I was mentally exhausted from trying to absorb so much information. I was sitting at the hotel bar, nursing a beer and unwinding. I expected nothing and was just relaxing.

Then I heard someone sit on the seat next to me and I turned my head casually to look that way. I almost fell off my stool! Next to me was a beautiful redhead in a short dress with a low top. Her breasts formed an incredible valley a man could gaze at all night. I guess I was doing exactly that.

"Are you going to spent all night starring at the twins, or are you going to buy a girl a drink?" she asked me while flashing a beautiful smile.

I managed to pull my tongue in and called the bartender over. I bought her a drink and ordered another beer for myself. That was Saturday. Just three days later, I found myself fighting for my career. 

I had arrived home Sunday afternoon and was back at work Monday morning. Tuesday morning found me in my office, trying to prepare a report to the board of directors for the afternoon meeting. I noticed an email from a hotmail account come across my monitor. The sender had the username "Bestfriend" and there were attachments. It piqued my curiosity, so I opened he email.

There was a very brief message consisting of two sentences. I sat there and read it at least a dozen times. It didn't make much sense, but I knew it would be very important to me. 

The message read, "Drive to Casey Park at noon and park next to the black Lincoln near the playground. If you don't, these pictures will be emailed to your boss, wife, kids, parents, and numerous community leaders."

It was with more than a little trepidation that I began to open the attached pictures. My stomach immediately knotted up and I felt nauseous. Somehow, someone had managed to take pictures of me with the redhead. The first picture showed us at the bar. Anyone can take a picture in a public place. It was the photos that followed that made my head spin.

They were taken in my hotel room and were quite explicit. First, I got mad. How the hell could those pictures be taken in a private room? It was a violation of my rights. Whoever took them broke numerous laws! Then my thoughts changed direction and all I could think about was what Donna would say if she found out about the pictures! Even worse, what if her parents and our kids saw them?

My mind began to understand the situation into which I had been plunged. I was obviously being threatened. If pictures of a naked redhead sucking my cock got out, my life could be turned to shit! To make things worse, if that was possible, there were several even more incriminating pictures. The one of me eating her bald pussy came out especially well. I could even make out several big freckles on her tits in the picture where she was riding me like a cowgirl! I really didn't want the boss, the kids, and especially Donna, to ever know those pictures even existed!

Art and Paul Simon were rather religious men. Everyone that worked for them had a morality clause in their contract. More than a few people had been terminated over the years for conduct detrimental to the company. Some had been caught in workplace affairs, some had stolen from the company, and one guy was fired for repeatedly lying about being ill when he was actually fishing.

The rumor was that before he canned him, Art told the man he could understand him going fishing rather than going to work. Art had been known to take a few afternoons off in trout season himself. He just couldn't tolerate the man lying about it.

As I mulled my situation over, I decided I needed to come up with a plan for damage control. Why were the pictures taken? Why were they emailed to me? Why was I told to drive to the park? How could I put a good spin on the situation? How do you shine shit?

There could only be one reason for my current situation, at least that I could think of. That reason was the fucking formula I was employed to protect. It had to be at the core of this shitstorm I was suddenly facing. I would probably be blackmailed into revealing it. The one big problem with that was that I had no idea what the concoction was. Hell, I drank beer.

I did have access, as security chief, to every part of the facility! A guy smarter than I, but with my ability to get into the more closely guarded areas, could probably hack into the computers, or the fucking shoebox, in which the secret was stored. That had to be the reason my life was circling the drain! 

I checked my watch and realized I had to leave within the hour to reach the park by noon. I hated to do it, but I picked up my phone and called Art Simon and quickly arranged a meeting with him and Paul.

It was exactly noon when I pulled into the park and stopped next to a black Lincoln. Two men were sitting in the car, apparently waiting for me. The guy is the passenger seat got out and held the door, indicating with a nod that he wanted me to get into the car. As I climbed it, I looked both men over. I had never seen either man before.

"It was smart of you to show up," asserted the man behind the wheel. "I have my laptop ready to send off pictures to every family member, friend, superior, and associate you ever had. I picked this spot because I can pick up wi-fi from that hotel across the street. All I have to do is hit the "enter" key and the shit hits the fan for you."

"Let's cut to the chase," I snapped. "What will it take to keep those pictures private?"

"I like your attitude, Benson," chuckled the prick. "This has been so easy. You're a security expert like a woodpecker is a carpenter! I had a hooker hired to fuck your brains out Saturday night and you went and picked that redhead up and fucked her before my girl got there. That saved me a couple hundred bucks, and the bitch you nailed was a lot better than the one I had for you. The pictures turned out quite well, don't you think?"

"Let's just get this over with," I insisted. "Do you want money for that computer? I'll need to know there aren't any more hard drives with those files on them."

"I want money, alright," laughed the man. "The problem is you don't have any where near enough. I want you to give my friend in the back your ID card and the code you use to get into the more sensitive areas of your company."

"What? You think I'll give you that? If they find out I gave it to you, I'll be fired and probably sued and who knows what else? I can't do that," I stated firmly.

"No problem, Benson," grinned the miserable fuck. "I'll just hit this key and you'll be in a world of shit so fast your head will spin!"

"Just a minute!" I shrieked. "When do you want the code and my ID?"

"Right now, dip-shit!" he snarled. "We're not going to give you a chance to fuck this up. Give it to him now and we'll wait here till he gets back. If everything goes okay, I'll give you this laptop and you'll never see us again. Your family will never find out what a fucking sex fiend you are and we'll all be happy."

"He can't just walk into the place even if you have the code," I warned. "He'll be seen and there are security cameras everywhere. It won't work."

"That would usually be the case," agreed my blackmailer, "but on the first Tuesday of the month, the people in the office are required to meet with the bosses in the conference room and discuss strategy and marketing for the next month. Between the hours of one and two, the place will be empty except for the guy watching the monitors. He's dumber than a fucking stick. My friend will be in and out before he figures out what the hell is happening." 

I turned to look at the guy's partner in the back seat. He was grinning from ear to ear as he held up an old Richard Nixon mask. I realized the cameras would record Tricky Dicky and be of little help. I pulled out my ID card and handed it to the guy as I told him the code number.

The guy got out of the car, walked across the street, climbed into a Nissan Sentra and drove off. I sat with my blackmailer and waited. He held his finger lightly on the enter key all the time. It was almost as nerve-wracking as sitting with a goddamn suicide bomber. 

It was almost an hour later when the car returned. The guy was grinning from ear to ear as he strode back to the Lincoln.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "These hicks are fucking idiots. Let's get this back to the boss."

"You have what you want, so hand over the computer," I demanded as I reached for the laptop.

"Oops!" laughed the bastard as he hit the key deliberately. "That's a shame. I guess you won't need my laptop now. The damage is already done, Asshole!"

I debated smacking the shit out of the guy when his pal opened my door and flashed a knife. He gestured for me to get out. I carefully stepped out of the car, closely watching the guy wielding the knife. 

He slammed the door closed and hurried back to the Nissan and climbed in. The two cars quickly drove off. I debated jumping in front of them, not to stop them, but to end the nightmare I was in. I had foolishly hoped the prick would keep his end of the agreement and not send the pictures. Now I had to face the music!

By the time I got back to my office, I could see the big turbine of life was really spinning fast and waste material was flying everywhere, especially in my face. The internet is much faster than my old Jeep.

Gloria, Art's secretary, called soon after I entered my office. I got along with her pretty good. She had always enjoyed chatting with Donna at company functions, as well. I could tell from her voice that she was concerned for me.

"Dan, your attendance in the board room is requested. I'm afraid it may involve the pictures that were emailed to every member of the board a little while ago," she added. "I don't like to judge, but I can't believe you would do this to your marriage. Donna loves you so much!"

"I guess that's my problem, Gloria. I think she loves me too much. Certainly, it's way more than I deserve. I'll be right up," I told her.

I had to pass by Gloria's desk to go into the board room. She was waiting for me when I entered the office. She flagged me down and motioned me toward a chair.

"They told me to ask you to wait here, Dan. They'll send for you soon," she promised. "Do I know your lady friend?"

I looked up at Gloria and could see the picture of me being ridden by the cowgirl on her monitor. She had enlarged the pictures so the redhead's face and upper body filled the screen. The woman riding me in the photo had red hair strewn across her face, so only her smile showed. I had to admit that she did have a big smile! Good cowgirls moved around a lot and couldn't be worried about their coiffure. 

"Do you spend much time in Vegas, Gloria?" I asked. "If not, it's unlikely that you would know her." 

I had to sit and cool my heels for almost half an hour. Gloria seemed to enjoy the photos. She looked at each one of them several times. Then she picked up the phone and called someone. I realized this was just too good for her to resist. She was probably calling her friends and neighbors to tell them about the great porn she had received and would be sending to the few people in the world that hadn't yet seen the pictures. As I waited, my mood got darker and darker.

Finally, Gloria was buzzed and she turned to me.

"You can go in now, Dan. Good luck, and don't take any shit from them!" she added as I opened the door.

I was wondering about her statement a little as I walked into the room. I soon pushed it from my thoughts when I saw the mood of the group. There were seven people on the board. Art and Paul were there, of course. The rest, except one, were family members. Paul's wife had passed away a few years prior, and was replaced on the board by her daughter, Gwen. Art's wife, Mildred, sat to his left. The others were Art's son, Paul's son, and the company CFO, Bob Robinson. 

"Dan, we've asked you here today to hear your explanation for these pictures and for the blackmail mess that ensued," stated Art. "We want to hear your side of the story before we make any decisions."

I looked each person in the eye before I framed my answer. I always heard it's best to make these things personal, just like a defendant looking at the jurors.

"I came to you as soon as I realized there would be a blackmail attempt, as you know, Art. I helped devise a plan very quickly that should enable the company to not only retain it's secret to success, but to find out who was behind the attempted theft," I responded.

"That part went very well, Dan," agreed Art. "We've already received a couple reports from the firm you that recommended. They are following these thugs as we speak. The moron stole my wife's recipe for a rather bitter drink she likes to serve during the Christmas holidays. The problem at the moment is what you did to set yourself up to be blackmailed. These pictures are very disturbing. You are a married man and you were in Vegas representing this company."

"I submit to you that the pictures were taken illegally. They invaded my privacy and should not be considered. What I, or any of you, do behind closed doors is our business and not subject to review by our employers, friends, or acquaintances," I concluded. 

"The problem is, we do know what you did behind closed doors, Dan. This is a family company and we have rather high standards, though they really are not unreasonable," responded Paul. "We hold marriage vows sacred. We cannot condone, or ignore, this sort of activity with a lady of the night, or whatever she was."

I could see I wasn't going to be able to convince them that my privacy had been violated and they should disregard the photos. I knew if I threatened a law suit, they would show me the street all the quicker. Their beliefs were not formed by courts of law. I read the writing on the wall and decided to leave. I would have to discuss my options with a lawyer. I knew it would be an expensive and ugly court battle and I had hoped for a better resolution. 

"I have nothing more to add," I concluded. "Now, I must be.."

Suddenly the door swung open and Gloria stepped into the room. This was extremely unusual for her and it was obvious that she was very nervous.

"I am so sorry! I hate to intrude on the board, but I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. I have Mrs. Benson here to speak to you!"

You could have knocked me over with a feather! Donna walked into the room and right up to the group. She held her head high and looked great, even though she was wearing a long plain coat and carrying a big handbag.

"I apologize for the interruption, ladies and gentleman, but I believe I have some information that may shed light on this situation and prevent you from making a terrible mistake," she announced.

"Mrs. Benson, Donna," responded Art kindly. "It is understandable that you would be upset, but this boardroom is not the forum for a domestic battle. We regret this has happened, but we must take action. Your anger at Dan is not something we care to witness here."

"Anger for Dan?" laughed Donna. "I love this guy more than ever! You all know what a fine employee, father and husband he's been. Now that you've seen the pictures, you also know what a wonderful lover he is!"

I hurried over to Donna and took her by the arm to pull her from the room. She would have none of it and jerked her arm from me.

"Dan! You are such a wonderful husband! This is something I have to do. I want them to know the truth and I know you won't tell it," insisted Donna. "I will!"

"What exactly is the truth Dan is withholding from us, Donna," asked a very confused Art Simon.

"The truth is this. The woman in the pictures is me. I had a seminar in Los Angeles the same week Dan was in Vegas. I surprised him by arranging my flight home so that I'd have a one night lay-over in Vegas. It turned out to be one of the best "lay-overs" I've ever had, if you catch my meaning," laughed Donna as she pointed to the pictures lying in front of the group. "In fact, I see some of the proof sitting on your conference table."

"Wow! Did you buy some ocean front property while you were in Las Vegas, Mrs. Benson," questioned Bob Robinson. "If we believe your story, we'd be likely to believe anything, wouldn't we? If you are, in fact, the woman in these pictures, why didn't Dan just tell us up front and bypass all this hassle?" 

"That's easy, Mr. Robinson," replied Donna. "Dan is a true gentleman. He would rather be terminated than embarrass or humiliate me. There is nothing he would not do to spare his family pain. Gloria called me and told me about the pictures and her suspicions that I was the woman in the photos. I immediately opened my email and realized they were taken in our hotel room, without our knowledge or permission, I might add. Dan was willing to come in here and take whatever you handed him to protect me. I think that's the type of man this company wants."

"If that's true, and I personally don't believe it is, why are you claiming to be the lady in red?" demanded Robinson. "Aren't you making this up so he can keep his position with the company? Why else would you be willing to embarrass yourself by making such a wild assertion?"


And I Love Her



Harddaysknight's original story is reproduced (with a few edits) here with his express permission for the ease of maintaining continuity for the reader. Chapter 2 is my extension after an exchange of emails with HDK. 

Chapter 1 by and with permission of Harddaysknight

We were married the summer Donna finished college. I have never regretted my marriage, not even for a minute. I don't really know why she picked me when she could have any man she wanted, but I'm not complaining. Donna is a wonderful mother and is pretty much responsible for how well our kids turned out.

I work for Art & Paul's Old Fashioned Soda Company. Don't feel bad if you've never heard of it. It's a family company started by two brothers in a garage in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, in 1963. No one seems to know exactly where, or how, they developed their formula, but there is no better carbonated soft drink on the planet

The company stayed pretty much a part-time garage business until the early seventies. The demand for their product kept increasing and eventually they moved the business to a bigger building. Today, they have 450 employees and have resisted any further expansion. The family feels it would lose control of the quality of their product if they went "big time".

A few weeks ago, Time Magazine ran an article about the family and the soda they make. I now suspect that story was the catalyst for all my recent problems.

The magazine made a big deal out of how closely the original family formula was guarded. Near the end of the story, my name was mentioned as the guy in charge of security for the company. I had worked for Art and Paul since I got out of the army in 1985. I worked my way up the ladder and three years ago I was named head of security.

The title sounds good, but the truth is security was never much of an issue, at least not until that damn magazine story. It made our soda sound like the best thing since toilet paper, and that the secret formula is worth millions. Looking at it now, I guess it probably is.

When the story hit the newsstands, interest in our product and how it was made picked up noticeably. Suddenly, my job wasn't so cushy. It became evident that we needed to increase the measures in place to protect the formula.

To that end, I found myself in Las Vegas last week for a trade show on anything, and everything, a company could ever need to ward off corporate spying and espionage. I felt a little like James Bond with Q. That was the guy with inventions, wasn't it? I did pick up some very helpful ideas and even ordered some equipment and software for the company.

The last day of the show was Saturday. By Saturday evening, I was mentally exhausted from trying to absorb so much information. I was sitting at the hotel bar, nursing a beer and unwinding. I expected nothing and was just relaxing.

Then I heard someone sit on the seat next to me and I turned my head casually to look that way. I almost fell off my stool! Next to me was a beautiful redhead in a short dress with a low top. Her breasts formed an incredible valley a man could gaze at all night. I guess I was doing exactly that.

"Are you going to spend all night staring at the twins, or are you going to buy a girl a drink?" she asked me while flashing a beautiful smile.

I managed to pull my tongue in and called the bartender over. I bought her a drink and ordered another beer for myself. That was Saturday. Just three days later, I found myself fighting for my career.

I had arrived home Sunday afternoon and was back at work Monday morning. Tuesday morning found me in my office, trying to prepare a report to the board of directors for the afternoon meeting. I noticed an email from a hotmail account come across my monitor. The sender had the username "Bestfriend" and there were attachments. It piqued my curiosity, so I opened he email.

There was a very brief message consisting of two sentences. I sat there and read it at least a dozen times. It didn't make much sense, but I knew it would be very important to me.

The message read, "Drive to Casey Park at noon and park next to the black Lincoln near the playground. If you don't, these pictures will be emailed to your boss, wife, kids, parents, and numerous community leaders."

It was with more than a little trepidation that I began to open the attached pictures. My stomach immediately knotted up and I felt nauseous. Somehow, someone had managed to take pictures of me with the redhead. The first picture showed us at the bar. Anyone can take a picture in a public place. It was the photos that followed that made my head spin.

They were taken in my hotel room and were quite explicit. First, I got mad. How the hell could those pictures be taken in a private room? It was a violation of my rights. Whoever took them broke numerous laws! Then my thoughts changed direction and all I could think about was what Donna would say if she found out about the pictures! Even worse, what if her parents and our kids saw them?

My mind began to understand the situation into which I had been plunged. I was obviously being threatened. If pictures of a naked redhead sucking my cock got out, my life could be turned to shit! To make things worse, if that was possible, there were several even more incriminating pictures. The one of me eating her bald pussy came out especially well. I could even make out several big freckles on her tits in the picture where she was riding me like a cowgirl! I really didn't want the boss, the kids, and especially Donna, to ever know those pictures even existed!

Art and Paul Simon were rather religious men. Everyone that worked for them had a morality clause in their contract. More than a few people had been terminated over the years for conduct detrimental to the company. Some had been caught in workplace affairs, some had stolen from the company, and one guy was fired for repeatedly lying about being ill when he was actually fishing.

The rumor was that before he canned him, Art told the man he could understand him going fishing rather than going to work. Art had been known to take a few afternoons off in trout season himself. He just couldn't tolerate the man lying about it.

As I mulled my situation over, I decided I needed to come up with a plan for damage control. Why were the pictures taken? Why were they emailed to me? Why was I told to drive to the park? How could I put a good spin on the situation? How do you shine shit?

There could only be one reason for my current situation, at least that I could think of. That reason was the fucking formula I was employed to protect. It had to be at the core of this shitstorm I was suddenly facing. I would probably be blackmailed into revealing it. The one big problem with that was that I had no idea what the concoction was. Hell, I drank beer.

I did have access, as security chief, to every part of the facility! A guy smarter than I, but with my ability to get into the more closely guarded areas, could probably hack into the computers, or the fucking shoebox, in which the secret was stored. That had to be the reason my life was circling the drain!

I checked my watch and realized I had to leave within the hour to reach the park by noon. I hated to do it, but I picked up my phone and called Art Simon and quickly arranged a meeting with him and Paul.

It was exactly noon when I pulled into the park and stopped next to a black Lincoln. Two men were sitting in the car, apparently waiting for me. The guy in the passenger seat got out and held the door, indicating with a nod that he wanted me to get into the car. As I climbed it, I looked both men over. I had never seen either man before.

"It was smart of you to show up," asserted the man behind the wheel. "I have my laptop ready to send off pictures to every family member, friend, superior, and associate you ever had. I picked this spot because I can pick up wi-fi from that hotel across the street. All I have to do is hit the 'enter' key and the shit hits the fan for you."

"Let's cut to the chase," I snapped. "What will it take to keep those pictures private?"

"I like your attitude, Benson," chuckled the prick. "This has been so easy. You're a security expert like a woodpecker is a carpenter! I had a hooker hired to fuck your brains out Saturday night and you went and picked that redhead up and fucked her before my girl got there. That saved me a couple hundred bucks, and the bitch you nailed was a lot better than the one I had for you. The pictures turned out quite well, don't you think?"

"Let's just get this over with," I insisted. "Do you want money for that computer? I'll need to know there aren't any more hard drives with those files on them."

"I want money, alright," laughed the man. "The problem is you don't have anywhere near enough. I want you to give my friend in the back your ID card and the code you use to get into the more sensitive areas of your company."

"What? You think I'll give you that? If they find out I gave it to you, I'll be fired and probably sued and who knows what else? I can't do that," I stated firmly.

"No problem, Benson," grinned the miserable fuck. "I'll just hit this key and you'll be in a world of shit so fast your head will spin!"

"Just a minute!" I shrieked. "When do you want the code and my ID?"

"Right now, dip-shit!" he snarled. "We're not going to give you a chance to fuck this up. Give it to him now and we'll wait here till he gets back. If everything goes okay, I'll give you this laptop and you'll never see us again. Your family will never find out what a fucking sex fiend you are and we'll all be happy."

"He can't just walk into the place even if you have the code," I warned. "He'll be seen and there are security cameras everywhere. It won't work."

"That would usually be the case," agreed my blackmailer, "but on the first Tuesday of the month, the people in the office are required to meet with the bosses in the conference room and discuss strategy and marketing for the next month. Between the hours of one and two, the place will be empty except for the guy watching the monitors. He's dumber than a fucking stick. My friend will be in and out before he figures out what the hell is happening."

I turned to look at the guy's partner in the back seat. He was grinning from ear to ear as he held up an old Richard Nixon mask. I realized the cameras would record Tricky Dicky and be of little help. I pulled out my ID card and handed it to the guy as I told him the code number.

The guy got out of the car, walked across the street, climbed into a Nissan Sentra and drove off. I sat with my blackmailer and waited. He held his finger lightly on the enter key all the time. It was almost as nerve-wracking as sitting with a goddamn suicide bomber.

It was almost an hour later when the car returned. The guy was grinning from ear to ear as he strode back to the Lincoln.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "These hicks are fucking idiots. Let's get this back to the boss."

"You have what you want, so hand over the computer," I demanded as I reached for the laptop.

"Oops!" laughed the bastard as he hit the key deliberately. "That's a shame. I guess you won't need my laptop now. The damage is already done, Asshole!"

I debated smacking the shit out of the guy when his pal opened my door and flashed a knife. He gestured for me to get out. I carefully stepped out of the car, closely watching the guy wielding the knife.

He slammed the door closed and hurried back to the Nissan and climbed in. The two cars quickly drove off. I debated jumping in front of them, not to stop them, but to end the nightmare I was in. I had foolishly hoped the prick would keep his end of the agreement and not send the pictures. Now I had to face the music!

By the time I got back to my office, I could see the big turbine of life was really spinning fast and waste material was flying everywhere, especially in my face. The internet is much faster than my old Jeep.

Gloria, Art's secretary, called soon after I entered my office. I got along with her pretty good. She had always enjoyed chatting with Donna at company functions, as well. I could tell from her voice that she was concerned for me.

"Dan, your attendance in the board room is requested. I'm afraid it may involve the pictures that were emailed to every member of the board a little while ago," she added. "I don't like to judge, but I can't believe you would do this to your marriage. Donna loves you so much!"

"I guess that's my problem, Gloria. I think she loves me too much. Certainly, it's way more than I deserve. I'll be right up," I told her.

I had to pass by Gloria's desk to go into the board room. She was waiting for me when I entered the office. She flagged me down and motioned me toward a chair.

"They told me to ask you to wait here, Dan. They'll send for you soon," she promised. "Do I know your lady friend?"

I looked up at Gloria and could see the picture of me being ridden by the cowgirl on her monitor. She had enlarged the pictures so the redhead's face and upper body filled the screen. The woman riding me in the photo had red hair strewn across her face, so only her smile showed. I had to admit that she did have a big smile! Good cowgirls moved around a lot and couldn't be worried about their coiffure.

"Do you spend much time in Vegas, Gloria?" I asked. "If not, it's unlikely that you would know her."

I had to sit and cool my heels for almost half an hour. Gloria seemed to enjoy the photos. She looked at each one of them several times. Then she picked up the phone and called someone. I realized this was just too good for her to resist. She was probably calling her friends and neighbors to tell them about the great porn she had received and would be sending to the few people in the world that hadn't yet seen the pictures. As I waited, my mood got darker and darker.

Finally, Gloria was buzzed and she turned to me.

"You can go in now, Dan. Good luck, and don't take any shit from them!" she added as I opened the door.

I was wondering about her statement a little as I walked into the room. I soon pushed it from my thoughts when I saw the mood of the group. There were seven people on the board. Art and Paul were there, of course. The rest, except one, were family members. Paul's wife had passed away a few years prior, and was replaced on the board by her daughter, Gwen. Art's wife, Mildred, sat to his left. The others were Art's son, Paul's son, and the company CFO, Bob Robinson.

"Dan, we've asked you here today to hear your explanation for these pictures and for the blackmail mess that ensued," stated Art. "We want to hear your side of the story before we make any decisions."

I looked each person in the eye before I framed my answer. I always heard it's best to make these things personal, just like a defendant looking at the jurors.

"I came to you as soon as I realized there would be a blackmail attempt, as you know, Art. I helped devise a plan very quickly that should enable the company to not only retain it's secret to success, but to find out who was behind the attempted theft," I responded.

"That part went very well, Dan," agreed Art. "We've already received a couple reports from the firm you that recommended. They are following these thugs as we speak. The moron stole my wife's recipe for a rather bitter drink she likes to serve during the Christmas holidays. The problem at the moment is what you did to set yourself up to be blackmailed. These pictures are very disturbing. You are a married man and you were in Vegas representing this company."

"I submit to you that the pictures were taken illegally. They invaded my privacy and should not be considered. What I, or any of you, do behind closed doors is our business and not subject to review by our employers, friends, or acquaintances," I concluded.

"The problem is, we do know what you did behind closed doors, Dan. This is a family company and we have rather high standards, though they really are not unreasonable," responded Paul. "We hold marriage vows sacred. We cannot condone, or ignore, this sort of activity with a lady of the night, or whatever she was."

I could see I wasn't going to be able to convince them that my privacy had been violated and they should disregard the photos. I knew if I threatened a law suit, they would show me the street all the quicker. Their beliefs were not formed by courts of law. I read the writing on the wall and decided to leave. I would have to discuss my options with a lawyer. I knew it would be an expensive and ugly court battle and I had hoped for a better resolution.

"I have nothing more to add," I concluded. "Now, I must be..."

Suddenly the door swung open and Gloria stepped into the room. This was extremely unusual for her and it was obvious that she was very nervous.

"I am so sorry! I hate to intrude on the board, but I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. I have Mrs. Benson here to speak to you!"

You could have knocked me over with a feather! Donna walked into the room and right up to the group. She held her head high and looked great, even though she was wearing a long plain coat and carrying a big handbag.

"I apologize for the interruption, ladies and gentleman, but I believe I have some information that may shed light on this situation and prevent you from making a terrible mistake," she announced.

"Mrs. Benson, Donna," responded Art kindly. "It is understandable that you would be upset, but this boardroom is not the forum for a domestic battle. We regret this has happened, but we must take action. Your anger at Dan is not something we care to witness here."

"Anger for Dan?" laughed Donna. "I love this guy more than ever! You all know what a fine employee, father and husband he's been. Now that you've seen the pictures, you also know what a wonderful lover he is!"

I hurried over to Donna and took her by the arm to pull her from the room. She would have none of it and jerked her arm from me.

"Dan! You are such a wonderful husband! This is something I have to do. I want them to know the truth and I know you won't tell it," insisted Donna. "I will!"

"What exactly is the truth Dan is withholding from us, Donna," asked a very confused Art Simon.

"The truth is this. The woman in the pictures is me. I had a seminar in Los Angeles the same week Dan was in Vegas. I surprised him by arranging my flight home so that I'd have a one night lay-over in Vegas. It turned out to be one of the best "lay-overs" I've ever had, if you catch my meaning," laughed Donna as she pointed to the pictures lying in front of the group. "In fact, I see some of the proof sitting on your conference table."

"Wow! Did you buy some ocean front property while you were in Las Vegas, Mrs. Benson," questioned Bob Robinson. "If we believe your story, we'd be likely to believe anything, wouldn't we? If you are, in fact, the woman in these pictures, why didn't Dan just tell us up front and bypass all this hassle?"

"That's easy, Mr. Robinson," replied Donna. "Dan is a true gentleman. He would rather be terminated than embarrass or humiliate me. There is nothing he would not do to spare his family pain. Gloria called me and told me about the pictures and her suspicions that I was the woman in the photos. I immediately opened my email and realized they were taken in our hotel room, without our knowledge or permission, I might add. Dan was willing to come in here and take whatever you handed him to protect me. I think that's the type of man this company wants."

"If that's true, and I personally don't believe it is, why are you claiming to be the lady in red?" demanded Robinson. "Aren't you making this up so he can keep his position with the company? Why else would you be willing to embarrass yourself by making such a wild assertion?"




And I Love Her



"That's easy again, Mr. Robinson," Donna replied hotly. "I am embarrassed that anyone would be so vile as to photograph my husband and me while making love. The truth is, however, that my love for my husband far exceeds any personal embarrassment I may suffer. I will not stand by and have him maligned or insulted. He is a fine man with an impeccable reputation and should never have to take any shit like this!"

"How old are you, my dear?' asked Mrs. Mildred Simon.

Donna turned her attention to Art Simon's wife. She looked at the older woman for half a minute before responding.

"As long as I'm baring everything here, I may as well tell you, Mrs. Simon. I'm 44 years old. I weigh 122 pounds and I'm an inch shy of five and a half feet tall."

"With all due respect to the ladies present, the woman in these pictures is much younger than 44!" snorted Robinson. "I'd be willing to bet the slut in these pictures isn't even 35!"

I had Robinson by his lapels and across the conference table before he finished his sentence. I was pulling back to paste him a good shot when Donna grabbed my arm.

"Dan! Don't even think about it! He's just stating what he thinks is fact. Let him go, now!" barked Donna.

I relaxed my grip on Robinson and let him flop back into his seat. It seemed quite apparent that my job was history now.

"Mr. Robinson, I don't know how you feel about your wife being insulted in front of you, but believe me when I tell you that Dan will not tolerate it from you, or anyone. He absolutely worships me!" beamed Donna as she looked at me.

"My Dear," interjected Mildred Simon. "Personally, I admire the way both of you protect and defend each other, but I am afraid that Mr. Robinson has made a valid point, although his crudeness is very upsetting. You are 44 years old and the woman in the photos appears much younger. Her face is not clear in any of them, what with her hair always in her face."

Donna reached into her bag and pulled out a red wig and placed it on her head over her blond hair. The group at the table looked unconvinced.

"It seems you do have a red wig, Mrs. Benson, but the age difference is still a considerable hurdle for us to get over," stated Mildred Simon. "I, for one, have difficulty accepting that you are the woman in the photos. It seems very possible that you are going to great lengths to save your husband's position with our company."

"You have no idea how far I'd go for Dan, Mrs. Simon," answered Donna. "Will you admit that if the woman in the pictures is me, then Dan has done nothing wrong? That he has, in fact, helped your company prevent the theft of your formula at tremendous personal embarrassment and ridicule? Will you admit that a married couple can enjoy love making in private as depicted in these photos, without shame or humiliation? Is it possible that if we had pictures of you and Mr. Simon in a moment of ardor, there is little here that you wouldn't be doing?"

"This is not about Mr. Simon and me, Mrs. Benson," smiled Mildred Simon. "I will say that I would be most uncomfortable to have photos of my personal life circulated on the internet, although less so if I could look as good as the young lady in these photos. We seem to have reached an impasse here, I'm afraid."

"I will not accept that. Dan is being accused of impropriety. He's actually being condemned for loving his wife! The so-called evidence that he was with a cheap whore is a bunch of lousy pictures! You can't even see my face in them because of this cheap wig I bought in the airport in Los Angeles. You can't even see my face in the photo taken at the bar while I still had my clothes on," Donna stated calmly.

"Somehow I knew it would come to this. I want you to look at these pictures that Gloria enlarged," insisted Donna as she pulled two glossies from her handbag and tossed them on the table in front of the group. "Look at the freckles on the left breast. Then look at the little tattoo just above the pussy my husband is so enthusiastically paying lip service. Then compare them with this!"

I had thought I'd seen everything. Now everyone saw everything. Donna had quickly unbuttoned her coat as she spoke and shrugged it off her shoulders. She was completely naked!

I didn't know if I should crawl under the table, grab her coat and put it back over her, or just stand there and beam. There's something about seeing your wife naked in front of other people that is extremely erotic. I had seen her naked for 22 years, but she never looked sexier.

"Mr. Simon, please look at the pictures and then my left breast, and then down below. What conclusion do you reach, Sir?" Donna asked Paul Simon as she stepped up to the table, standing close in front of him.

"My conclusion, Mrs. Benson," responded Paul Simon after what seemed like an unnecessarily long inspection, "is that you are indeed the woman in the photograph and a vision of beauty. It is also my opinion that we owe you, and the extremely fortunate Mr. Benson standing next to you, a huge apology. These proceedings, in retrospect, subjected both of you unfair accusations bordering on slander.

"I am now offering a motion that this board formally apologize to Dan Benson, acknowledge that his quick thinking has saved our company the loss of our formula, present him with a five thousand dollar bonus in appreciation as well as a five percent raise in salary," he continued. "Do I hear a second?"

The six other members seemed to all respond at the same time, seconding the motion of Paul's. It passed unanimously. Donna was still hugging me when Art Simon gently placed her coat on her shoulders. His wife, Mildred, waited for us to separate.

"My Dear, it goes against the laws of nature for a woman to look as good as you do at 44, or at almost any age! I apologize for my reluctance to believe you, but I can assure you that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes; I would never have believed our area's third grade teacher could achieve such a metamorphosis by donning a wig and shedding her clothing! Your devotion to your husband, and his respect and love for you, are most touching. It's regrettable that those pictures of you are circulating. Especially when you look so good, but your face can't be recognized in them! "

Chapter 2 by RPSuch

Several other board members started to add their own comments simultaneously.

I can be somewhat volatile as my outburst against Bob Robinson had shown. But listening to this last bit of obsequious condescension by Mildred Simon, and the murmur of all their babbling, set me off like a match to an open tank of gasoline.

"Shut up!" I yelled so loud I'm sure it could have been heard throughout the building. There was instant silence from them.

I continued in a voice that was loud, but lacked the explosive power of my original two words. "You can take your $5000 and your 5% and stuff them where the sun don't shine you sanctimonious hypocrites! You slandered me and my wife. With no reason you made her out to be a manipulative liar. Despite my quick actions to protect the company you portrayed me as a man with no morals. Then you humiliated her by giving her no choice but to submit a display of public nudity in front of you. And you further humiliated me by making her do it with me here to see it. You all compounded the personal cost. $5000 is an insult that just confirms your contempt. $5000 won't nearly do it.  "You, Robinson, pronounced her a slut, while drooling over her pictures, you old pervert. You others gawked at her body; ogled her like drunks on the first row at a cheap strip club.

"You, Mildred, oozed contempt for her defense of me after I saved the formula at great personal cost, including a willingness to lose my job just to save my wife the embarrassment of having her body recognized in those photographs.

"Shame on all of you."

I was shaking with anger. My eyes burned with a fire that told them not only was I serious, but that my real preference would have been to give every one of them a sound beating.

"Your accusations didn't just border on slander. Do you understand the cost of the kind of slander you people have made against me and my wife in a community this small? She could lose her job. I might never be able to find another job here because of the cloud of suspicion you've created. Our kids will be affected. Our parents will be affected. And what will the community make of the generous offer of $5000? It's far less than a nuisance lawsuit would cost you. Accepting it would be seen in this community as an admission of wrongdoing by both of us.

"Do you remember that guy accused of the Olympic bombing in Atlanta? The FBI annihilated him in the press. Do you think anybody remembers he didn't do it when they meet him, when he goes for a job, when he tries to get a date? They remember the lies. 

"That's the position you've put us in. Every other employee of this company and probably their whole families and all their friends, basically the entire community knows why you called me in here to fire me. Even if we come to an agreement, they all figure where there's smoke, there's fire. And by now they know Donna is here trying to help me. Are they going to hear what she did?

"Yeah, snicker Robinson, you pig. I'll make sure each of you is sued individually as well as suing the company. But, before we even discuss money, there is a non-negotiable demand if you don't want me to sue the company out from under all of you, and I promise I will.

"I demand that all of you strip completely naked right now. I want you to understand the humiliation you've created by suffering it yourself. At least you won't have the additional suffering of having your private acts of love publicly displayed and demeaned by the likes of yourselves."  Oh, shit! I'm normally a reasonable guy. I prefer to cooperate, negotiate, accommodate. I'd just gone off on a rant that could cost us everything. They're going to fire me, expose me, expose her. Why couldn't I just take the money and the raise? I must have been crazy. Can I plead extreme emotional distress? I'd gone so far off the deep end I wasn't sure I could even find the deep end again if I tried.

But, I was right. Their behavior had been disgraceful at best.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. I wouldn't have been surprised to find that nobody had even breathed.

I put my hands on my hips. I straightened up into the most aggressive pose I could manage. I had a hard look on my face that was more than anger. It could easily have been the look of someone who's been pushed too far and was picking out the first victim to be hurt.

Still no movement.

I waited no more than ten or fifteen seconds. My voice was no longer loud, it was just determined. "I have your answer. You won't have to wait long for mine."

I turned and took a few quick steps toward the door.

"Wait," said Paul's son, Paul, Jr. "Isn't there any other way? What you're asking is humiliating."

I smiled. It was not friendly and engaging. "Exactly. How much more humiliating must it have been for Donna when she was the only one? How much more humiliating was it for me to have to watch it? You're getting off easy."

I glared at them, challenging them to argue.

Paul, Jr., slowly stood, took off his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Paul," said his father.

"He's right, Dad. We owe him this. We owe her this."

His father stood and started to disrobe.

Art's son rose. Art followed. "You, too, Mother," the young man said angrily. "He's right. Your disrespect was a close second to Robinson."

Paul's daughter, Gwen got up with a sigh. "Grow up, Mildred," she said. "Your devotion to yourself, and your respect and love for yourself, are most touching." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "If you didn't always have your nose stuck so far up in the air you'd have noticed just how much worse you were making this situation. If only one of us had to strip, it ought to be you. Now get with the program."

Mildred wasn't looking so resolute, but neither was she giving any indication of joining in.

"Mildred, do it now!" Art commanded. "Contribute something to this business for a change."

She fumed, but succumbed to the pressure being exerted by her family. Before she completed unbuttoning her blouse, she said, "Just a minute. Robinson, are you part of this board?"

He shrugged.

"Take off your damn clothes," she said.

"Take off your damn clothes, my dear," corrected Gwen.

Mildred gave her a withering look.

"Robinson," asked Art severely, "Are you a member of this board?"

"He means are you still a member of this board," said Paul. "Are you still an officer of this company?"

He hesitated.

"Does anybody know someone with a strong financial background?" asked Art.

Robinson stood and slowly took off his jacket. When he got to the shirt the family resumed disrobing.

When they finished they stood there attempting to avert their eyes, their shoulders slumped, chests concave. Donna had stood proudly.

I looked from face to face. This was what I had wanted. They were humiliated. Now I could … Oops. I hadn't thought this far. Now what do I do? This was going to be a hell of an anti-climax. Except…

"Now we can negotiate," I said.

"Like this? Naked?" asked Gwen.

"What's the problem?" I asked. "You guys had a leisurely discussion while Donna was naked. You moved a motion and voted on it before she got her coat back."

I had never felt so powerful. I had never been so powerful. If I was ever involved in negotiations again, I would try to arrange for the other side to be naked. They would want to wrap these negotiations as quickly as possible.

"I've got to tell you how disappointed I am about this whole thing," I said. "I was the victim of a burglary in my hotel room, a felony. The purpose of the burglary was to commit blackmail, another felony. The purpose of the blackmail was to commit industrial espionage, another felony, a damn serious felony. Then I was put out of their car at knifepoint, another serious felony.

"And after being the victim of my own personal crime wave, and helping the company avoid the disaster which was the purpose of this crime wave, you brought me in here to fire me for my moral deficiency. The cherry on this cake is that even though they thought I cooperated, they released the blackmail photos anyway, with no reason at all, nothing to gain." That's when it hit me. I glanced at those eyes and I knew.

I shook my head and sighed. I was having a great time dragging out their nudity. "Sooooo disappointing." I had to stop dawdling or pretty soon I would start laughing.

"Enough," snapped Mildred. "Make him a fair offer and let's get this over with."

They offered a 20% raise. I wanted 25%. I told them I would accept their offer tentatively, but I would talk with them further to persuade them I was worth 25%.

We agreed on a bonus of $50,000. They offered stock. I wanted cash.

"Dan," said Art, "You're going to invest the money anyway. Art & Paul's Old Fashioned Soda Company pays a very nice dividend." He looked at Robinson for help.

"Take their damn offer. This is a closely held corporation and it gets favorable tax treatment." Then he grumbled, "It's almost as much stock as I own."

I scrunched my lips and started to rock as if I were evaluating the offer. You better believe I was taking it. I decided to be gracious and put them out of their misery rather than posturing any longer.

"Done," I said, and they quickly started to dress.

Donna came over, put her arms around me and gave me a steamy kiss that made me want to get naked. "My hero," she said.

I wanted to take the rest of the day off but I was torn. "Art, Paul, could we speak in one of your offices? I think I can quickly convince you about that extra 5% before I run home to my wife."

"Is there really a rush?" asked Paul.

"I just want to wrap this up and get it in writing."

They agreed reluctantly.

Mildred, now dressed, came over and shook my hand. "Congratulations, young man. I apologize for my attitude and my behavior. You have a lovely wife and a lovely marriage. Everyone should be so lucky."

Donna and I both accepted her apology.

Art asked for five minutes to get himself coffee before we met in his office.

I whispered a request to Gloria.

I went to the kitchen and got myself a diet A&P Root Beer. Nobody makes it better than Art and Paul.

We settled down to discuss my raise and they told me the floor was mine.

Art's phone buzzed. He politely asked us to wait while he answered it. He listened and said, "Okay, thanks," into the phone.

"Gloria spoke with the police and with the private firm we hired. It seems they have both lost the men who tried to blackmail you. The cars were stolen so, for the moment, they have no leads," he said. "The police also said they would be back to speak to you again later."

"I wonder what makes them think I know any more now. Maybe they think I was part of the conspiracy." This seemed a good lead in.

"Never. We'll tell them that," said Paul.

"Well, it turns out I'm pretty sure I can help them. But I think you might like to know what I'm thinking before I talk to them."

They both gave me curious looks.

"You recall they asked me for my ID card and the code I use to get into the more sensitive areas of the company."

Both nodded.

"Anyone could have told them we wear IDs. Other than what may have been implied by the Time Magazine article, who actually knows that we do have sensitive areas? We have codes for a number of internal doors and use the same code for almost all of them, a practice which I intend to change without delay. Who knows there are two doors for which a different code is used?"

"I'd have to think," said Paul. "Not even the kids know. It could be just Art and I, and you, of course."

"Who knows we have security cameras?"

"That's pretty common knowledge among the office staff. I'm sure they have all seen them by now," said Art.

"Who knows the areas of coverage? I checked the tapes. The guy avoided us recording even a clear frame of reference to gauge his height. He navigated to the security room as if he could have done it blindfolded."

"Shit!" said Art.

"Inside job," said Paul, very softly.

I nodded. "Who knows about our first-Tuesday meetings; not just that we have them, but when, and that even the secretaries attend them? It's not something you would learn from the outside because there's a phone system in the conference room where anybody can take calls. You can't tell the desks are vacated."

Art's phone buzzed again. "Yes. Okay."

After a pregnant pause, the door to his office opened and Gloria led in the chief detective handling the case. She left and closed the door.

Art nodded to an empty seat and the detective took it.

"Gentlemen," he said. He frowned, then continued. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but we're fairly confident this was an inside job." He turned his gaze meaningfully to me, and said nothing further, waiting for me to address his unspoken accusation.

"Dan was just telling us he had reached the same conclusion," said Art.

The detective continued to stare at me. He apparently thought he was going to get a confession.

"Continue, Dan," said Paul.

"They had the layout. They knew the timing of the meeting. They knew where the cameras were located. They knew exactly how to get directly to the secure room so there would be no wasted time.

"Who knows the code to get into the secure room?" I asked.

Paul and Art looked at each other, eyes questioning.

"Right," I said. "Just me. The code is in a safe deposit box accessible by the two of you upon my death. Even my wife can't get in."

"Hmmm," intoned the detective. "That could explain a lot. You obviously had access to your own room in Vegas. You knew the email addresses to make it look like a blackmail scheme. Since you're the only one with the code, you had to give us a scheme to point to your innocence."




And I Love Her



"And why would I have the blackmailer actually send the pictures, rather than give me the computer. They were on there and that would have proved my claims about the pictures?"

"Very clever," said the detective. "If we had the computer, we could completely analyze it and find if there was any trace you had used it or set it up. We could even look at things you erased."

"And where did this idea of yours come from, detective?"

"We've been pursuing other avenues, talking to other people," he said.

"Please allow me to finish before you slap on the cuffs."

He nodded.

"So with the place cleared out, and with me away with the blackmailer, who was left to protect the company?" I asked.

"Manny, the guard," said Art.

"Yeah, but he couldn't have put this together," said Paul. "Even Robinson says, and please pardon my language, but the exact words he used were, 'He's dumber than a fucking stick.'"

"Just a moment," said the detective, thumbing furiously through his notes.

"He actually said that?" asked Art.

"Yeah, when he asked me to hire him. We didn't have any special security needs at the time. Robbie said his wife would treat him like a king if we could find her nephew a job that didn't involve thinking."

"Did you ever tell anyone about this conversation?" asked the detective.

"Not until just now."

The detective had found the page he was looking for. "Well, now, that puts a whole different light on things. Those were the exact words Mr. Benson told me in his last interview the blackmailers used " He flipped some more pages and started writing. "Mr. Paul Simon stated that Bob Robinson used the exact same words to refer to his nephew when he asked Mr. Simon to hire him as those used by the Blackmailers."

"Can I take that as an apology?" I asked.

He grunted.

I turned back to Art. "I take it the CFO, even if he didn't know about the work involved in setting up the security room, would see the expenditures with sufficient detail to know we had done it?"

Art paled. "He's complained about the other shareholders being family and how they got so much more in dividends even though they don't all do anything to make us profitable, but I never thought …" He had never thought it and he didn't want to say it now.

"Releasing the photos after I seemed to cooperate almost upset me enough that I didn't give any thought as to who would do this," I said. "Bob calling Donna a slut almost made me lose my cool."

"Almost?" asked Paul, ironically.

"I think I'll go have a follow-up chat with Mr. Robinson," said the detective, and left the room.

"Dan, you should be aware the bonus stock comes with a clause that allows the company to strip it from you if you commit any felony that reflects badly on Art & Paul's," said Paul. "Robinson's stock was issued under the same terms."

"Dan, you told us when you took over security that you didn't feel particularly qualified," said Art. "I think that 25% raise may turn out to be a bargain for us. Also, depending on how … things go, there may be some additional stock to sweeten up your bonus."

"Ah," I said, "You may have mislaid some."

"Exactly," he said. "Ah, and, in your capacity as security chief, do you think you could persuade Donna to allow you to take custody of that group photo she took earlier with her phone?"

I smiled. "That seems prudent. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe I'm late for a celebration with my youthful, devoted wife."



And I Love Her



"That's easy again, Mr. Robinson," Donna replied hotly. "I am embarrassed that anyone would be so vile as to photograph my husband and me while making love. The truth is, however, that my love for my husband far exceeds any personal embarrassment I may suffer. I will not stand by and have him maligned or insulted. He is a fine man with an impeccable reputation and should never have to take any shit like this!" 

"How old are you, my dear?' asked Mrs. Mildred Simon. 

Donna turned her attention to Art Simon's wife. She looked at the older woman for half a minute before responding.

"As long as I'm baring everything here, I may as well tell you, Mrs. Simon. I'm 44 years old. I weigh 122 pounds and I'm an inch shy of five and a half feet tall."

"With all due respect to the ladies present, the woman in these pictures is much younger than 44!" snorted Robinson. "I'd be willing to bet the slut in these pictures isn't even 35!"

I had Robinson by his lapels and across the conference table before he finished his sentence. I was pulling back to paste him a good shot when Donna grabbed my arm.

"Dan! Don't even think about it! He's just stating what he thinks is fact. Let him go, now!" barked Donna.

I relaxed my grip on Robinson and let him flop back into his seat. It seemed quite apparent that my job was history now.

"Mr. Robinson, I don't know how you feel about your wife being insulted in front of you, but believe me when I tell you that Dan will not tolerate it from you, or anyone. He absolutely worships me!" beamed Donna as she looked at me.

"My Dear," interjected Mildred Simon. "Personally, I admire the way both of you protect and defend each other, but I am afraid that Mr. Robinson has made a valid point, although his crudeness is very upsetting. You are 44 years old and the woman in the photos appears much younger. Her face is not clear in any of them, what with her hair always in her face."

Donna reached into her bag and pulled out a red wig and placed it on her head over her blond hair. The group at the table looked unconvinced.

"It seems you do have a red wig, Mrs. Benson, but the age difference is still a considerable hurdle for us to get over," stated Mildred Simon. "I, for one, have difficulty accepting that you are the woman in the photos. It seems very possible that you are going to great lengths to save your husband's position with our company."

"You have no idea how far I'd go for Dan, Mrs. Simon," answered Donna. "Will you admit that if the woman in the pictures is me, then Dan has done nothing wrong? That he and has, in fact, helped your company prevent the theft of your formula at tremendous personal embarrassment and ridicule? Will you admit that a married couple can enjoy love making in private as depicted in these photos, without shame or humiliation? Is it possible that if we had pictures of you and Mr. Simon in a moment of ardor, there is little here that you wouldn't be doing?"

"This is not about Mr. Simon and me, Mrs. Benson," smiled Mildred Simon. "I will say that I would be most uncomfortable to have photos of my personal life circulated on the internet, although less so if I could look as good as the young lady in these photos. We seem to have reached an impasse here, I'm afraid."

"I will not accept that. Dan is being accused of impropriety. He's actually being condemned for loving his wife! The so-called evidence that he was with a cheap whore is a bunch of lousy pictures! You can't even see my face in them because of this cheap wig I bought in the airport in Los Angeles. You can't even see my face in the photo taken at the bar while I still had my clothes on," Donna stated calmly.

"Somehow I knew it would come to this. I want you to look at these pictures that Gloria enlarged," insisted Donna as she pulled two glossies from her handbag and tossed them on the table in front of the group. "Look at the freckles on the left breast. Then look at the little tattoo just above the pussy my husband is so enthusiastically paying lip service. Then compare them with this!"

I had thought I'd seen everything. Now everyone saw everything. Donna had quickly unbuttoned her coat as she spoke and shrugged it off her shoulders. She was completely naked!

I didn't know if I should crawl under the table, grab her coat and put it back over her, or just stand there and beam. There's something about seeing your wife naked in front of other people that is extremely erotic. I had seen her naked for 22 years, but she never looked sexier. 

"Mr. Simon, please look at the pictures and then my left breast, and then down below. What conclusion do you reach, Sir?" Donna asked Paul Simon as she stepped up to the table, standing close in front of him.

"My conclusion, Mrs. Benson," responded Paul Simon after what seemed like an unnecessarily long inspection, "is that you are indeed the woman in the photograph and a vision of beauty. It is also my opinion that we owe you, and the extremely fortunate Mr. Benson standing next to you, a huge apology. These proceedings, in retrospect, subjected both of you unfair accusations bordering on slander.

"I am now offering a motion that this board formally apologize to Dan Benson, acknowledge that his quick thinking has saved our company the loss of our formula, present him with a five thousand dollar bonus in appreciation as well as a five percent raise in salary," he continued. "Do I hear a second?"

The six other members seemed to all respond at the same time, seconding the motion of Paul's. It passed unanimously. Donna was still hugging me when Art Simon gently placed her coat on her shoulders. His wife, Mildred, waited for us to separate. 

"My Dear, it goes against the laws of nature for a woman to look as good as you do at 44, or at almost any age! I apologize for my reluctance to believe you, but I can assure you that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes; I would never have believed our area's third grade teacher could achieve such a metamorphosis by donning a wig and shedding her clothing! Your devotion to your husband, and his respect and love for you, are most touching. It's regrettable that those pictures of you are circulating. Especially when you look so good, but your face can't be recognized in them!"