62 comments/ 73217 views/ 22 favorites I Lost Control of the Marriage By: chilleywilley Written by ChilleyWilley. Copyright reserved. Pandybear311 did a fine job editing this story We married young and decided to postpone a family for a good while. You know, make some money, save some money, and see a bit of the world. We are ordinary people, neither stunningly good looking nor homely, not brilliant nor stupid. My wife is a tall slender woman, whose grand parents came from southern Italy, with clear tawny skin, dark eyes and jet black hair. She has full lips, large eyes, and a strong nose. She thinks the nose is awful, but to me it bespeaks of a strong character. She has a natural grace when she walks and moves. I first saw her from across the room and fell in love before I saw her face. As to making money, we're doing good. We've got $100-150,000 in assets thanks to realestate appreciation, even in this lousy market. As we have lived together for a few years, I have only two complaints. She is not as clever as I once thought and she is stubborn as hell. She's prone to making a quick assessment, and even upon reflection sees her mistake, clings to her original response. Once she gets a thought into her head, I can bury it in cognizant arguments, have her admit she was mistaken, listen to her assert to one and all my point of view as her own, only to have it rise from its grave months later. All of the dumb thoughts she ever had will probably be rattling around in her head and not leave until her last breath. This is a serious problem as I value wit and intelligence above all else. My wife works for Bycatch Industries in Princeton, about forty five minutes away from our house. Bycatch are the fish, turtles and what not caught in fishing nets which are not commercially valuable. Therefore, they are dumped overboard, mostly dead. They amount to 70-80% of the catch and their wasteful destruction is one of the many reasons the oceans are being depleted so rapidly. We only take the fish we like and slaughter everything else. Strangely enough, Bycatch actually has nothing to do with fish or fishing. It's a Danish company that buys scrap of all kinds as well as surplus stuff and recycles or resells it. They are doing quite well for themselves. Unlike many small European companies in the US, Americans are mostly in charge. Buying and selling, negotiating and risk taking are what they do. My wife is a well paid buyer/seller for them, a senior product manager specializing in chemicals. For example, she buys scrap methanol from a chemical plant contaminated with whatever, and sells it to...well in this case she sold it to a municipal wastewater plant where the contaminant isn't a problem. She works in a nondescript office in Princeton, New Jersey. I rarely have occasion or the inclination to stop by her office, but right around Thanksgiving, I found myself driving by about 11:30 one morning I thought I might as well stop in and surprise Wifey. Take her out to lunch. I know a fair number of her coworkers from parties and such, so nobody saw the need to announce me. I waved to the ones I knew, stopped to chat here and there, and went upstairs into her area. I poked my head into her open office door. "Hi love! Got time for me?" "Why Chris, how nice to see you! This is a treat." There was a good size bunch of flowers in a cheap glass vase on her desk. "I was going by and wondered if you were free for lunch? Say, who gave you the flowers?" Frankly they were a couple of days old but a nice bunch, probably $70-$80 delivered here, maybe a little less where we live. "Why I thought it was you! The card said 'from your secret admirer', no name. I wondered why you didn't say anything about them." "When did they arrive?" "Ah... yesterday I think it was. So you didn't send them?" "You know very well I did not. You would have mentioned it to me last night if you really thought I had sent them. Frankly, I'm disappointed you accepted them. You are a married woman who should know better. When exactly did they arrive, before or after lunch?" "Nonsense, they're only flowers. Besides, I really did think you sent them. Why do you care when they arrived? I think it was after lunch sometime, maybe 3PM" "Look, if you really thought I had sent them, you would have been in a loving mood last night. You said nothing and acted in a way that is unfortunately quite normal for us. So if I didn't send them, who did you suppose did?" "Oh, I have no idea. It could have been anyone." "Rubbish. Let's think. Your admirer has to be either a man or a woman. I mean they're the only choices, wouldn't you say? Now in my life, no woman has ever given me flowers, so we can conclude they are from a man!" "Oh." With a look of consternation. "Right, probably not a woman." "Presumably he sent them for a reason. He is your secret admirer. So which of your many fine attributes do you think that he admires?" "How would I know? I don't know!" "Give me a break, Karen! What do men usually think of when they send flowers to a woman?" "Romance?" "Bingo! Women think romance. Men think fucking. So your admirer thinks you are a nice piece of ass and suspects you are a ripe fruit. Probably an insider. Someone outside the company, a supplier or customer, could hit on you without complications. But, someone inside the company might be worried about harassment charges. So they are inside, fishing for pussy, and thinking yours might be available. Now, nobody spends $70-$80 unless they have had some encouragement, some expectations that you will be receptive. So this guy is someone who's been flirting with you and thinks you're open to their suit (pun intended), but was reluctant to come right out and say Karen, you're a hot cunt, let's fuck!" "You are so crude! I'm sure it's not that at all. Honestly, men!" "Let me finish. You had two choices. Accept the flowers and the spirit in which they were given, and thereby encourage him to continue. Or reject them and the guy by giving them to someone else or sticking them in the coffee nook, and telling everybody in the office, and me when you got home, that whoever the secret admirer is, he's a fool and barking up the wrong tree. Further more, it was probably someone that was around here yesterday afternoon or today because they would want to have seen your reaction to them. You know, see if the fish has swallowed the bait...which you did. So, who fits that description? If you're free for lunch, we can talk about it." "Oh, of course. I did have plans but it's no big deal, I'll cancel them. Let me make a call first. I told you, I don't know anyone that would think that of me." "OK, but you don't need to cancel your plans, really, I don't mind going to lunch with your coworkers." She picked up the phone as she said to me: "It's much more of a treat to have lunch with you." And into the phone: "Hello, look, Chris stopped by to take me to lunch, so I got a better offer. Some other time? My husband, Chris! OK, see ya than." "Who was that?" "Oh, just Roland St Clair. He's in one of the other offices, comes to Princeton once or twice a month. I'll catch up with him some other time. You're right about the flowers. I never gave it a thought." She picked them up, and as we walked through the office, and said a bit louder than necessary: "I really had thought these were from you." And dropped them rather dramatically with a loud thunk into the trash. As we walked to the parking lot, I asked, "Ahh, does Roland fit the profile?" "Who, him? Naa, he's just a guy I work with. Nothing special. Why are you going on so about it. It's not important, my love." She knew who sent them, but I was not going to get a name out of her so I let it slide. We had a nice lunch. She was touchy feely, trying to reassure me that we were a couple. For whatever reason, guilt, reassurance, or the premenstrual lust, a good time was had by all that evening. About three weeks later at the Bycatch Christmas party, Karen was circulating while I was bantering with Natalie Waskie and Julie Sullivan, a couple of her coworkers. We were people watching when a punter came in the door. Ever spot a Pussy hound? I noticed this guy soon as he entered the room. He tossed his coat on a chair and after a quick scan of the room, made a beeline to the far side of the room towards a group of three women, one of whom was my wife. Karen spotted him coming, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her glance at me.* The pussy hound immediately started chatting her up to the visible annoyance of the other two women. He was lightly touching her first on the shoulder, then her upper arm, not obscenely or anything, but quite familiar. Overly familiar I thought. Although she was not responding very much, she did lay a hand on his arm a few times. I asked, "Who's that guy talking to my wife? You can almost see him drooling." They glanced over. Natalie sniffed with a bit of contempt. "That's Roland St Clair. He's a piece of work. He's out of the Wilmington office, but he comes up here every week or two and basically wastes our time. He spends half his day bragging and flirting...making innuendos and wiseass remarks. The idiot has been reported two or three times for harassment. Rumor is his sister is married to Sven Cedarquist, so they keep covering it up. What a slime ball. We can always see him coming 'cause he has a brilliant yellow Humvee! What an idiot!" We all laughed at that. "Well he looks like a pussy hound to me! I better run him off before my wife has to report him too." Karen's pals had broken off, either to avoid Roland or perhaps knowing when they weren't wanted. As I strolled over to the two of them the wife's back was to me. I draped my arm across her neck and over her shoulder in a deliberately proprietary gesture. She jerked her hand off Roland's wrist. She was guilty of bad thoughts, no doubt about it. My right hand was around my wife but I pointedly didn't offer a hand shake. "Hi, I'm Chris. Karen's husband. Who're you?" "Oh, don't you know Roland? Chris, this is Roland St Clair. He's in accounting in the Wilmington Office." "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," says Roland. He started to offer his hand, but realized it would be foolishand retracted it. I don't think Karen noticed. "Do you work with Karen? I mean do you do the accounting on her accounts, and such like?" "Oh no, my job has nothing to do with Roland," Karen blurted rather hastily. "We both like the Flyers hockey team!" "I presume Roland can answer for himself. So you have nothing to do with Karen, business wise? Humph! News to me that she was interested in hockey. As far as I know, she's never watched a game in her life." "Karen's correct about the job, but I'm a big Flyer's fan! Never miss a game," said the Hound. "Well, Roland, is your wife here? I'd like to meet her. Perhaps the four of us could go to a Flyer's game. Karen and I've never been Iit'd do us good to go with people who really know the game. Should be fun." Wifey looked at me askance. My offer didn't go over well. "No, Sandra couldn't come. The Flyer's game would be great, but she hates sports as Karen says you do. Frankly, Karen and I ought to go and leave you and Sandra at home." Wifey smiled at that one. "Not a plan. Karen and I have been married long enough for me to learn that it's important to share activities. I use to play hockey in high school so I at least know the game, but I've never followed the sports corporations. I've always figured if I was going to cheer a corporation, I might as well cheer on one I owned some stock in. Still, rhetoric aside, I would enjoy watching a game though, especially since you say Karen's enthusiastic! I wouldn't mind that at all. If, ah...Sandra, was it? Doesn't like hockey, what sort of things do you two like to do together?" Long face on Wifey. She doesn't think I'm doing too well here. "Chris, Roland and his wife," I gave her shoulder a little squeeze, but she ignored my signal. "...are a little strained with one another, right now" "Oh, I'm genuinely sorry to hear that, Roland. Can you tell me what happened?" "Chris! That's none of our business, now is it?" "Do you always answer for Roland? It is annoying. How can I know how Roland feels if you keep interrupting. But since you knew about it, Roland thinks it's your business. And since married people have few secrets, it's now my business. I mean, why did you bring it up if you and he didn't want to talk about it?" "Oh really! Why are you being so rude? Roland, let me get a few drinks into him and we can talk later." She actually drug me by the sleeve over to the bar, and ordered drinks for us. Hmmh! She was on a rip. Obviously I had provoked her more than I expected. "OK, so what's the cause of Roland's problems with his wife? Is he running around on her?" "Chris, I can't talk about them. It's confidential. Roland certainly doesn't want his marital troubles spread throughout work, now does he? Roland's going through a rough time right now and I'm just a friend and being supportive." "Karen, I can understand here in this crowd may not be the time or place to talk about this, but if you think me indiscrete or that I can't keep confidences, then you really don't know the man you married. It is not only reasonable, but right that you should share with me what another man tells you about his intimate relationships. "First, you are not a marriage councilor and often such tales serve to lower the barrier between proper and improper relationships. Secondly, it is tempting for you respond in kind and talk about your marital difficulties. This is fine if you are talking to a good friend who has no self interest in your marriage,someone who unquestionably has your best interests in mind. "I believe you started to have Roland's best interest at heart and wish to reconcile Roland and his wife. Unfortunately, it is a short hop to feel sympathy for Roland and provide comfort to a person who is hurting. He is after your pussy. I think he wants to drive a wedge between us...split us so he can have you. His comments and advice are not in your best interest. "And lastly I'm a man and can give you a man's perspective on this. I would be reassured if you were able to be open with me about your relationship with Roland, that your being supportive would not go too far." "What are you accusing me of here, huh? Come on, out with it. Do you think I'm screwing him? Is that it? Well, I'm not! You've been on my case all evening. What is it with you?" The guilty flee when none pursue. She was sucking her drink down like water. While I dumped most of my drink in a half empty beer glass, she was scanning the crowd. This was a night to be cold sober. "I am not accusing you of screwing him. I'm advising you of a threat to us. Look, let's talk about this later. Neither of us wants to have a public brawl. Come on, let's dance, love." She finished her drink and I swallowed the few drops remaining in mine for show before we went out onto the floor. She wanted another drink and like before, drank hers quickly while I too a few sips and dumped the rest. Back on the floor, she softened up as we danced a slow one and I whispered endearments into her ear. The next dance was a fast one, which isn't one of my talents but I hung in there. The second one was fast as well. The next thing I knew, Roland was bobbing and weaving beside me. Quite a good dancer, I must admit. I have to give him credit for brass balls. After a minute or so, he wedged in front of me and Karen began following his lead. I reached over to Roland and dug my fingers between his triceps' muscle and the bone hard enough to hurt, perhaps leave bruises. I pulled him to me to speak in his ear just soft enough so Wifey couldn't hear, but with all the music, it was loud as hell to him. "Piss off, asshole. You can cut in on my wife when you come on to the floor with your own wife. Meanwhile, stay the Fuck away from Karen! Send her any more flowers, and I'll stick the vase up your ass. Understand?" He glared at me, tensed as though he was going to fight. Then he ducked his head and walked away. Karen could guess what I said and got in my face about it, started to rip me a new asshole for being belligerent with poor Roland. I could see others were noticing so I took her firmly by the upper arm, no bruising, just a firm grip, and muttered into her ear. "We need to talk someplace where we won't be making a scene in front of your coworkers. Smile as you go outside with your husband!" as I walked her out to the parking lot. "Poor Roland. He's so lonely. I am only trying to be his friend.You know, help get him and his wife get back together. You're so crude, Chris. You've no reason to be mean to Roland. Don't you ever talk to me or treat me like that again. I'm not 10 years old..." "Cut the bullshit! You're blind here. Let me tell you how it is. Like that old song, 'He ain't nothing but a hound dog, Been snoopin' round my door." "Those aren't the right lyrics. It goes 'You're nothing but a hound dog, crying all the time.' My mom was an Elvis fan and sang that song all the time. Besides, Roland has a right to be sad." "I was quoting the Eric Clapton version. Everybody has a right to be sad. Look Roland's snooping around your skirt and you know why. His troubles with his wife are because he's been fucking other women and I am sure you're not the only one he's trying to hook up with." I was speculating here, but I think I had his number. "I would rather you stayed away from him altogether, but you do work for the same company. You both admitted he has no business reason to visit you, so you're not obligated to waste your time entertaining him or go out to lunch with him. I gather he travels to your Princeton Office regularly. He's trouble looking for a home and he's not getting in the middle of our marriage." "Chris, I'm an adult. You will not tell me who I can talk to!" "Karen, I've never, in all the years we've been dating or married, given you a direct order but I am now. Put up with him in public because you have to, but you are never, never to be together by yourselves outside of work. No just the two of us lunches, no drinks after work, no riding in cars, no phone calls, no email, no instant messaging. Do you understand?" She started crying, which merged into blubbering and ranting. She wasn't very coherent, and I wondered if it were just the alcohol As I pulled out of the parking lot, she jolted uprignt and cried: "Wait, wait, my coat's in there. Stop. We have to go back." "Your coat will be there tomorrow. You can get it then. Did you understand what I said a moment ago?" "Look, goddamn it! You take me back there or else when we get home, I'm going to get in my car and drive right back here by myself." "Fine by me. If you still want to go back to the party when we get home, I'll drive you where ever you say you want to go. You're upset barely coherent, and had a lot to drink. Roland's bad news. I love you and will not give you up without a fight." She sulked the rest of the way home. When the car stopped in the driveway, she bolted out of the car, stormed into the house, headed directly upstairs, slammed and locked the bedroom door before throwing herself on the bed. I heard the thump. I wondered if I had been too forceful. Now Roland was the victim and forbidden fruit is sweet. No point in checking the home computer. They could IM and talk all day on their work computers. I thought about the situation half the night. I wasn't going to give her up without a fight, but if I lost the fight, she was out the door. I would need to get the credit card information together and do a credit check to find out what cards we had open. I would need to cancel the joint ones. I needed to apply for a couple of cards in my own name. See the damn lawyer. At least I knew where the bank accounts were. Shit! Shit! Shit! I Lost Control of the Marriage The next day I went into the bedroom to get dressed and found the door unlocked. Karen was still sleeping as I brushed my teeth, dressed, and went to work. I have a friend in Grace Chang. She's in charge of the computer systems where I work as a field service tech. I brought her a cup of coffee and sat down in the chair beside her desk. I was moaning to her about Roland and my wife, asking what to do. "Ha! Been there, done that! About 8-10 months ago, I thought my husband was stepping out too. Like you, I had no access to his emails at work and didn't have a clue as to who he might be sleeping with. I bought a transponder, actually two, because he has a car and a truck. I was able to track where he went by logging on to the internet. I did this for three weeks. He seemed to be driving around aimlessly. What the fuck, I thought. On my birthday, he gave me a lovely antique dressing mirror. Turns out he had been going to antique shops all over the place. What an idiot I was." "Grace, I think Roland is trying to put the horns on me and getting to her by selling her a sob story. And I'm truly afraid my wife is falling for it." "Don't be silly! Karen seems like a good person. Look, I still have the transponders and the software. Bring your laptop in tomorrow. I'll load the software into it. You can borrow the transponders for as long as you want. Put one on Roland's car,one on your wife's and you can track 'em wherever they go. It's easy." "Well Grace, that's a way forward, isn't it? Karen has a certain innocence and a sympathetic nature so it could be good hearted on her part, except for Roland. I smell smoke for sure. Innocent until proven guilty, right? Let's do it!" After work, I stopped by a spy store and picked up a clock radio with built in color camera and microphone that would broadcast in a 500 ft radius. It even came with software to record the signal on a laptop and edit the audio/video. I really had no plan. I just thought pictures are worth a thousand words, and they would probably be useful at some point. I was also thinking that if I had trouble with the program, Grace could work it out. I needn't have worried. I followed the directions and it worked fine. The little camera transmitted both sound and picture of a television in my living room onto a computer well over 1000 feet away. The picture was a little grainy, but the sound was great. The next day, Grace programmed my computer to pick up the transponders. The stuff looked good. Accurate to about 20 yards, it projected a little car on map, complete with restaurants, hotels, and other attractions right around them. By clicking on Google earth, I could see the area. I needed to know when Roland would be in the office, but I was worried about caller ID. Since I have a distinctive voice, I had a friend call the Wilmington office of Bycatch industries and ask the receptionist if Roland would be available mid to late afternoon. She was very concerned that he was in an important meeting from two o'clock until four and only had a half hour free before he was to meet with Flemming somebody or another at 4:30. My friend said he'd try him another day. Good to go! I left work at noon and drove to Wilmington. No security in the parking lot as far as I could see. You can't miss a yellow Hummer! I wonder if he drives down the street, pretending that he's a real man driving to Fallujah (Iraq) dodging roadside bombs? I stuck the transponder where the directions said would give the best signal and found a hot wire to tap it into. I checked my computer before I left the parking lot, and Hooray! There's the icon for the yellow tub. I headed on home. That evening I put the other one on Wifie's car. Watching the damn things was a problem with my job. I'm not normally near an internet connection. Much of the time, I'll know where they went after they went and gone! On the way home I called Natalie Waskie at Bycatch. "Natalie, this is Chris Harlow. Have you got a couple of minutes for me?" "Why certainly, Sir. May I have your contact information please. Good. Now, how can I help you?" "Good that you are discrete, Natalie. Shouldn't want this to be office gossip." "Quite right, Sir." "Look, Roland may be a problem for me. I certainly don't want to put you in the uncomfortable position of being my wife's keeper, but I thought that simply calling me when you know Rolland will be up to Princeton might be a reasonable thing to ask." "Of course, we could, Sir, but are you sure that it wouldn't create even more, perhaps widespread problems?" "Absolutely not. You have my word that I will neither assault, nor blacken the reputation of Roland, or for that matter Karen. Well, I probably would tell his wife if something happened between them. Just so both families are on an equal footing, so to speak. There is no point in mentioning your role in any of this. If you phone me from someone else's phone, your contribution would be absolutely untraceable." "Oh, excellent. Those were just the things I had in mind. Let me get the information you've requested and I'll get back to you. Thank you for calling Bycatch. Good day." When Wifey came in, I had a nice dinner on the table. She was coldly civil to me. When she retreated to the bedroom to do crossword puzzles after dinner, I put the other transponder on her car. Sure enough, I went on the internet, and there was an area map with a red "#1 and a #2 for each of the cars. Throughout the day over the next week, I checked the two cars every time I went by a chain coffee shop with wifi. Nothing relevant. On Wednesday, Natalie called to say that the shipment would be in tomorrow morning. Thursday morning, Wifey went to work and Roland drove non-stop to Bycatch Industries in Princeton. Roland's car went out at lunch time but returned an hour later. It took some digging, but looked as though he went to the Smoking Pig Barbeque restaurant. At least when I searched for restaurants on Cottage Street, that was the only restaurant for about three blocks around. Wifey likes Barbeque, but that's no proof she went out with him. I didn't know for certain until Natalie called and said they had a 1 hour lunch at the smoking pig before hanging up. Things had calmed down a little around the house over the past week. That evening, Wifey came home right on time, more or less her old self. After supper we did the "How was your day" conversation. Amidst the chitchat, she claimed she ate lunch in the cafeteria, having chicken salad with cottage cheese with a couple of other women she hung out with. "What, you didn't have barbeque?" asked I. She went orbital. "What are you trying to say? Are you calling me a liar? What makes you think I had Barbeque?" "Well, what's that drop of brownish red on the pocket of your blouse? Too dark for Ketchup, too thick for wine, so...Smoking Pig barbeque sauce! And you like barbeque, so where did the dribble come from? I say, Dr Watson, has Sherlock Holmes discovered a mystery?" "No, it's just a spot on my shirt." But her face was frowning as she picked at the spot. "Well, more like a spot on your honesty. You lied about going out for lunch, didn't you? You and Roland went out to that Barbeque place for lunch and you're lying about it. I am serious here. I will not have you sneaking around behind my back, sinking our marriage, god damn it." "What in god's name makes you think of Roland all the time? If I get a flat tire on the way home, you'd blame it on Roland! You can't tell me who to see and not see! I won't give you that power over me." "I'm right, aren't I? If you claim no, I can call Phyllis at Bycatch and ask her, you know." She hated Phyllis. "All right, all right but all I did was go to lunch with him. Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen. How did you know? Did someone from work see us?" "The innocent need not worry. Nobody ratted you out, just deductive logic. That you would lie to me is a very bad sign, Karen. But you're right, love, that I can't make you behave. Lincoln freed the slaves! Ultimately we are both free to do what we wish. If you really want Roland instead of me, then I won't stand in your way. Frankly, given your attitude of late, if it wasn't him, it would be somebody else some other time." "Look! Lay off god dam Roland. And if you are having me followed, then fuck off. You're wasting your money. I resent you treating me like a child, and trying to tell me who I can talk to and all. You're obsessed with Roland and trying to control me. You're sick!" "Nonsense! Of the three hundred million people in this country and in the five years we have known each other, Roland is the only person I have warned you about. I am not trying to control you. I'm telling you the consequences of following along the path you're going. If you do not act like a married person and make the concessions necessary to be a married person, you aren't going to be a married person. Simple as that. Look! I told you not to be alone with him and you went out to lunch with him Worse yet you lied about it so you're on notice! Frankly, I feel hurt that you would do this, and a bit fearful of the future. I really don't think I'm being unreasonable here." "Well, you are being unreasonable. I am not jumping into bed with him. I'm just helping him over some rough spots." "Look, maybe we're too involved with this to be impartial. Let's call your sister and have her offer an opinion of who is reasonable and who is not." "She always takes your side. Forget about her! I'm a big girl and I know what I'm doing." I pondered a long while. I was hurt. I felt my wife deliberately was sticking a knife in me and I wanted revenge. If I had some pictures of the two of them diddling away, or even of Wifey alone but in a context where she would have been with Roland, I could poison the well. Best prepare for the worst. I stopped at a lawyer's office and bought a divorce kit of all things. They threw in a will kit for free. The bad news was that I would have to sell the house to pay off her share. The place appreciated because of the enormous sweat equity I put in it and the fact that property values in the neighborhood were going sky high. We had maybe $15,000 in savings and equity in the cars, but about $150,000 of equity in the house. Karen would get half. That didn't seem right, as the majority of our income was from me. I needed to think about that. I filled out the papers and stuffed them in an envelope. It was easy. I filled out the will kit while I was at it. I left my estate half to my parents and half to the Boy Scouts. I put it with my work stuff until I could get it witnessed. I picked up a new lock for the front door, but didn't get a chance to install it. I rummaged until I found the instructions to the garage door opener and looked up how to change the code. Nothing of interest showed on the tracking screen the following week, nor the week after. On Wednesday of the third week, a day when I was in North Jersey, I stopped by a Paniteria where they have free WIFI. I logged on, saw Roland had driven to Princeton that morning, but stopped at 8:30 AM for eleven minutes. The location was an off ramp on I95 about a ten minute drive from Bycatch. It could have been anything, but there is a Holiday Inn Express and a Sleep Inn right there. I called the Sleep Inn and asked for Roland St Clair. No such person. I dialed the number for the Holiday Inn. When they transferred me to a room, I hung up before it went through. I made my excuses to the client and headed down to Princeton. At 10:30, the lobby was empty. I rang the desk and a lad came out in a poorly pressed white shirt, scuffed shoes, and black slacks that hadn't seen an iron ever. I told him I was Roland St Clair and said I locked myself out and forgotten my room number. He was about to give me shit when I slipped him a fan of five $20 bills. "Yes, sir, I remember you, Mr. St Clair." A bit of rustling behind the desk, and with a wink. "Here you are, Mr. St Clair. Room 114." I went up and set up the clock radio where it would have a good view of the bed, and pocketed the hotel's clock. I checked the reception and it worked just fine. I used the hotel's WIFI to check where they were. Shit! Rolland was about 3 miles away. And I'd thought they would have lunch first! I hustled out, got in my car, and drove into the Denney's across the street. A few minutes later, the yellow Hummer pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot. No video reception from here. Or maybe it has a motion sensor and wasn't sending out a signal. I really should have read directionsmore than once. I forget if it does or doesn't. I gave them two minutes, drove over to the hotel, and parked just around the corner from room 313 so if they looked out the window, I would be out of sight. Beautiful reception! She came out of the bathroom, still dressed, to embrace a fully dressed Roland. Roman hands everywhere, until Roland sat on the bed and said, "I'd like you to undress for me." She smiled with lust in her eye and mauled her tits with both hands. Her left hand slid up her neck to her hair, while her other hand slowly unbuttoned her blouse, showing a very nice lace bra. Preserving the disheveled look, she stood and crossed her legs in false modesty slowly unzipping her skirt. Rather than letting it drop, she reached for the waistband and slowly pulled the dress up, exposing her thighs and a lace thong. The skirt went higher and a nice belly emerged followed by her bra clad tits as she lifted it over her head. "Oh, Karen, you're breathtaking! God, your legs are to die for. And you did shave your pussy for me. It's still covered, but looks lovely. Turn around." Wifey displayed herself for that asshole, bending over a bit and wiggling her ass. I had a view of her face, blouse undone, breasts sagging against the bra as she told him, "My husband will be pissed that I did it. He likes a furry snatch." "What will you tell him? That you did it to please your lover?" "Something like that. I'll tell him that I did it to surprise him. That he might like it this way. He'll be so grateful to get a piece, I doubt if he really cares." I dialed her cell phone and heard it ring in her purse. She didn't even glance at it. I turned the sound down on the computer, and left a message, struggling to keep my voice from choking. "Hello, my love. I was sitting here having a vision of you nearly naked, lusting for sex, and thought I would call to tell you what an active imagination I have. See you later." She reached behind her and unsnapped the bra. She turned to the camera, back to Roland, and flashed her tits as she slid one arm out of her blouse, slipped the bra strap off, and the blouse back on. She turned around to Roland, presumably gave a bit of a flash, and back around to do the same with the other arm. This time she backed up to Roland. While I was treated to her bra dropping to the floor and the sight of her hard nipples, his hand slid between her legs, and began toying with her thong. "I love your ass. It's truly lovely, and my hand is in such a nice warm, moist place." "Ahha!" said Wifey with a wiggle and an open mouth. That turned into a front to back swaying as she rubbed herself on his hand. Nothing was said, but the hand started moving up and down as well. I assumed he was thumb fucking her. I could see his fingers had pushed her thong to one side. She fastened the lower buttons of her blouse, and after a moment or two, she moved towards the camera, sliding off his hand, and turned about to face him. Roland had his thumb under his nose. "You smell divine, absolutely intoxicating." The blouse slid off one shoulder, down the arm, exposing a breast. I think she was playing with it because she stood there for a bit with her arm moving. Then she slid the blouse over her other shoulder until both sides hung on her fore arms, both breasts were on display for her lover. She stepped toward Roland, who slid her thong down, leaving it around her ankles. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. He was fully clothed; she was naked, in classic submission. His hands rubbed her back and forth against his body, until she lifted one leg to press herself against him. "Suck me baby," he commanded as he gently but insistently pushed her shoulders down. She kneeled on an angle to him and rubbed her face against the crotch of his trousers. "There's something big and hard in there. isn't there, my stud?" She unzipped him and fished his cock out of the pants. There she knelt, worshiping another man's cock, sliding in and out of her mouth. Roland unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his pants. Wifey slipped his dick out of her mouth long enough to push his boxers down. Roland pulled her to her feet as kicked his shoes off and said, "You need a good fucking. Get on the bed and let me see that naked pussy." She scrambled up, lay back with her knees up and opened wide. Roland climbed on the bed and began fondling her tits."Ah what lovely tits you have. Those nipples are hard for me, aren't they?" "They've been hard all morning. I've been waiting for you to suck them like this." Within a couple of minutes, he was fucking her right and proper- several deep plunges before pulling completely out, followed by poking just the head of his dick in and out. Wifey was riding hard. They went on for about an hour and a half. Roland had shot one load down her throat and two in the cunt. I had it on my computer and had had enough watching them. Now for payback. I headed home, sat down, and hooked up to the internet. I wanted to somewhat obscure Wifey's face, so I could pretend I didn't recognize her in her porn debut. I took a while to figure out what software I needed to do that, but in the end I figured it out. I went to one of those amateur websites where you can post pictures and videos. I created a phony ID, RStC, and a disposable email address. Using the phony ID, I could post the video clip, together with some comments. I gave a lot of thought to the alleged photographer's comments, because I wanted Roland to clearly be exploiting Wifey. I settled on; "Here's a lovely cunt I'm just breaking in. Her husband is sure I'm fucking her, but it's killing him, cause he can't prove it. Keep watch on the website. In a month or so, I'll introduce some of my friends to her body and take some more videos. You'll have to pay to see those in the hardcore section, but she's worth it!" Of course the chance that Wifey would ever see the website without me guiding her to it is nil. The plan was for me to use some of the words and commands that Roland used on Wifey. She may ignore the first one or two, but sooner or later she'll realize where she heard those words before and get scared. At first I'll say I saw them watching some porn website. I'll let her badger me, and then, oh so reluctantly, I'll agree to show her the site. That ought to take care of Roland. She was a little late coming home, but frankly looked and acted normal. Perhaps even a little depressed. I had a salad, Chicken Scallopinni with roasted Italian vegetables on the table. "Well, love, you had a pleasant afternoon, didn't you?" She had an alarmed look on her face. "Well, the sexy message you left on my cell phone was very nice to receive. But other than that, nothing out of the ordinary. I am completely all in. If you still have romantic intentions, they'll have to wait until tomorrow." "Ah that. Well actually, it's the way you walk and move, kind of languid or perhaps lubricated. Oh and you smell different. I can't place the smell, kind of like lavender soap and some sort of musk. Did you stop for drinks?" She had a bit of a flush on her cheeks. "Nope. I came home straight from work." I Lost Control of the Marriage I had planned to give her a grope and a kiss as I usually did, but I felt too much revulsion. I realized that what I saw this afternoon was a complete turn off for me. I didn't think my feelings would change over time. I no longer looked at her with anger and contempt. I was wasting my time hanging around her. Why screw around? I didn't want her back. If she thought Roland was so great, let her have him. What the fuck I want with her, if she doesn't' want me! I began to rethink the video and my plan for shitting in her bed. If I made her believe the worst about Roland with the porn site, she would drop him, all right, but then might try to win me back. She'd stick to me like toilet paper on the heel of your shoe. Better for me to move on and plan accordingly. So I never mentioned the website and as far as I knew, she never saw it. I made no moves to get a last fuck that night. I just didn't care. The next morning, as soon as she was out the door, I called a Messinger service to pick up the divorce papers and deliver them at 4PM to Wifey's work. I went out to the bank. I shifted some money around in the savings and brokerage account to split it 50/50. By now she was at work, so I closed out all of our joint credit cards. When I got home, I changed the lock on the front door. I packed the clothes she commonly wore to work neatly in a suit case. I bagged all the other clothing in her closet in some heavy duty garbage bags. I logged on. The Humvee was in Wilmington and Wifey's car at work. I didn't bother to empty her bureau. I wrapped a rope around it to keep the drawers from falling out, and used a two wheel truck to get it to the car. About killed myself getting it up on the roof racks. I filled the car with the trash bags . I remembered the garage door opener and just unplugged it. Locking the front door, I drove to her mother's cottage. Her mom was stunned. I asked her not to call her daughter until after 3 PM as I had more stuff to move. On my second trip, I got the bed and mattress on top of the car and loaded the bedding , her bedside table and more bags of stuff in the trunk. I went back one last time and packed her CD's and such, two boxes of knickknacks and books. I looked like a modern dust bowl refugee driving slowly to her mother's. Her mom remarked, "I like the idea of her living in the garage. That way, she knows this is temporary. In 4-5 months it will be mighty damn cold! It will give her an incentive to move out. I always did like you, Chris. Is it unreasonable to ask you to stay in touch?" "Grace, I'll be glad to keep in touch, especially if it means a home cooked dinner from time to time." I got the bed set up, and the lamp and alarm clock plugged in. I even made the bed, nice guy that I am. I set her vibrator, with a spare set of batteries, on her pillow and covered it with the bed spread as I thought it in poor taste for her mother to see it. Ah...her mom probably has one of her own. At 3:10, I was having a beer with her mom while she called Karen at the office. "Karen, I just wanted to tell you that Chris has thrown you out, and I have to take you in, for now. Chris brought most of your stuff over and put it in the garage. I don't know what you were thinking of, you silly fool." And hung up! "Is this the really the end, Chris? You two seemed very happy. What really happened? " I told her some of the details, not being at all graphic. . "Yah, pretty much the end of our marriage. Your daughter apparently hasn't figured out what marriage is and what our mutual responsibilities are. I don't think she's ready for it. Maybe she will be by the time she remarries. I must admit, there isn't muchhope though. We'll see." Driving back to my house, I called Roland's wife and told her what's what. She told me to fuck off and my own business. I pointed out, again, that it was my business as it was my soon to be former wife he was fucking, but I got no thanks from her. Oh well, you just can't please some people. I had composed a nice letter, I thought. "Karen, You were right. It is kind of you to work with Roland to overcome his marital problems, whatever they are. It's important to you and important to him, however, not so much for me. I do want you to be happy, so as I promised, I am releasing you from our marriage. You can devote yourself fulltime to Roland, and to the many others who will no doubt take his place as he has taken mine. I don't know what you're looking for in this life but as I reflect on our time together, I am relieved that your future has nothing to do with me. Know that I will not bad mouth you and will be polite to you whenever we meet." May you find peace, and joy in this life Chris" I drove back to her mom's, dumped the last of the plastic bags in the garage. I put the letter into a sealed envelope and laid it on the bed. After saying goodbye and kissing her mom, I headed back home. Coming into our neighborhood, I parked two blocks over from our house. Karen or Roland might want revenge, and I just as soon have my car out of sight. I walked to the street behind ours and came through Mrs. Corbin's yard which backs up to our house. I unlocked the back door and let myself in. Peeking out, no Karen yet. I checked the computer. Roland's truck was at his house in Wilmington. Karen was just leaving work. I presumed she didn't get her mother's message. I changed the answering machine, stating that she no longer was at this number Blah Blah. Too kind. I erased it and recorded a new message. Karen didn't live here anymore. I included her cell phone number for people looking for her. I will spare you the gnashing of teeth, ringing on the cell phone, and Karen's pounding on the door. At first she denied that she did anything with Roland but talk. By the end of the week, she admitted getting "Carried away once, that it wouldn't happen again." Good, I didn't have to tell her about the video tape. On Friday, her mother called and asked if I would meet Karen at her house on Saturday. I agreed. I have literotica to thank for the idea that saved me a pot of money. I wrote a contract stating that in the future, if one of us cheated on the other and evidence of the cheating was sufficient to convince a magistrate, the cheating partner would leave the marriage with only a $10,000 settlement. I deliberately did a somewhat crude job with the wording and made another appointment with Burt, my lawyer. I showed it to him. "Burt, the agreement is supposed to be crudely written. I want to lull her into signing what she might regard as a private agreement. I want you to read it over, and where necessary, change it so that is will be a binding, air tight contract, hopefully without changing the amateurish tone of the letter." He read it over again. "I suppose I should fuss over it a lot to run the fees up, but it's fine as is. I've done a few prenuptial contracts, but never a nuptial contract. Bit of a novelty. You need two copies, one for each of you, and they have to be witnessed and dated by someone." "Would her mother do?" "Well legally, yes, but would she verify her signature later on in court? Why take the chance. Better get someone else who has no ax to grind." The fee was modest, and the trap was set. We met at her mom's, just the two of us. She was dressed quite seductively, barefoot, summer weight dress, and no underwear, that I could tell. "Karen, did I get the time wrong? I thought your Mom said 12:30." "No, you're right on time. Why would you think otherwise?" "Well, dressed as you are, I thought maybe Rolley was coming by?" "I haven't seen Roland for a while, and I'm not going to any more. I dressed this way for you! Chris, I've really screwed up, haven't I "What day was that?" "Huh?" "You said I haven't seen him for a while, and I asked what day you were referring to." "Errr, the day before you threw me out." "Oh, I'm sorry. There was no reason for you to stop seeing him. I mean he's your friend, and a friend in need is a friend indeed, whatever that means." "Well, I think you were right about his marital problem. You see, he..." "Stop right there. Don't you remember? Rolley doesn't want you talking about his marital problems with me. That's confidential, after all. And after all your work helping Rolley and Sandra get back together, I can't imagine you blabbing now. Honestly! I must admit, I did imagine it was erectile dysfunction that you were helping Rolley overcome, and at his age, well he doesn't need to have that get out, does he. I hope your hard work helped the two of them." "OK, possibly I deserved that, put please cut the sarcasm. I freely admit I've really been a fool, but I love you. I really hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, but I don't see how you can. You must hate me!" "I'd like to continue this conversation, but it's 12:15, and my stomach is demanding food. Change into street clothes, and we'll go to the pub." I forced the conversation to small talk in the car. We sat in a rear booth, by ourselves. "So do I hate you, you asked. Of course not. I try very hard not to hate anyone, you, Rolley, corrupt politicians. Hate is too corrosive to the person carrying it. To not hate you, I have to forgive you, so I have." She looked surprised and the sniveling paused. "It's worse than that. If you really were just being a fool this once, I suppose I could get past that in time, but I've given it a lot of thought. I think the real problem is that you are an immature fool. I gave you lots of opportunity to look at what you were doing, but you simply couldn't see. I don't really blame you for that. It's how you are, at leastat this time in your life. Since it is not really your fault, it's easy to forgive you. I suppose there is some chance that as you mature, you will become wiser, but I really don't wish to hang around and wait to see when or if that happens. Look, you're brilliant at many things, but you're totally clueless about so very many other things that I value, and I don't suffer fools well." "Chris, believe me, I've grown up really fast these last few weeks. I think we can make our marriage work, and I'll do anything toward that end. What do you think we have to do?" "Well, I've thought about that. I trusted you implicitly, and that trust was completely misplaced. One of your virtues is that you empathize with people. Almost a Mother Theresa figure, but with a different vocation. Think what a tragedy it would have been if somebody's grandfather had married her and she ended up as a housewife in Peoria?. All those people in India, with no one to help them. "Mother Theresa was born in Peoria? I never knew that! Is that true?" "I was speaking metaphorically. She was born in Macedonia. Anyway, that's how I feel about marrying you and limiting you, restricting you! I mean, if someone's feeling bad, low self esteem, rotten wife, impotence, I might spend a little time chatting with them. Tell them the joke of the day to make them laugh or give them a few bucks but that would be it! How much help would that do them? Almost none! But you! My god, you literally go all the way with them in an effort to really help them. It would be wrong of me to interfere with such a vocation. Roland and no doubt a great many others would be left to find their way alone!" "There were no others. Just once with Roland, and..." "Oh, that is true humility. A rich man with plenty to give, gives millions to charity, but when asked says modestly, 'Oh, I just help out where I can.' Really, you're being too modest, but I understand. Modesty too, is a virtue." I wasn't interested in making this too easy for her "Chris, I really realize what a muck I've made of it all. I've grown up immensely! I really have." "Let me think about it, Karen. What it all comes to is do I wish to risk wasting more years of my life with you or move on. Let's meet again tomorrow, say here at 12:30?" "Of course. Sure. 12:30." She was waiting for me when I walked in the door at 12:35. I don't know how long she had been there, but her beer glass was only 1/3 full. As before, we made small talk. I didn't ask her if her mom's garage was beginning to feel cozy and homey. "Ok, here's what I've been thinking. As I see it, having slipped once, you are at some risk to do it again. If I have to go through the anguish of my wife fucking around, I want to be compensated for it. So here's the deal. If I catch you screwing around and can prove it to a magistrate, you're out the door with ten grand and I get the rest. Now, it's only fair that I offer you the same deal. It penalizes the adulterer. If we both sign this agreement, we bury the hatchet and get on with our lives." I slid the amateur looking agreement, complete with inconsequential misspellings, over to her. As I expected, she did a quick read it and said, "Ok. It's fair. I can sign this. I really appreciate your being so forgiving. I'm not sure I could be in your place." "Let's hope neither of us are in my place in the future. Dante, could you come over here a minute." The owner, a casual acquaintance of ours, came right over. "Ah Chris, Karen. Is there a problem? New help in the kitchen is always trouble for me." "Nothing like that, Dante. Karen and I are signing an agreement between us and we need someone to witness the signatures. Would you do this for us? You really don't have to read the documents because it's only the signing you're attesting to." "Of course, Dante will do this for his friends!" It was over in a minute. Karen and I each had a signed, witnessed legal document. What followed was a second honeymoon, with vows of fidelity, love and such. But she was stubborn and I suspected that her affair wasn't over yet. Monday, I was back to the motel. Indeed, the same clerk was on duty. "Troy, may I have a word with you?" "Sure." "Look, whenever someone makes a reservation for Roland St Clair, give them the same room as last time. Room 114. And here's something for your troubles." "Well, I don't know." Rocket scientists are rarely desk clerks. "Look, you have to assign the customer a room. He's stayed in that room and presumably likes it, so isn't it reasonable to give him a room he likes? One he is familiar with? Should anyone ask, and they won't, it's just good customer service. Of course, if the customer asks for some other room, fine. By all means, give them that room." "Well...OK" and he pocketed the cash. At 9 o'clock Thursday, I got a short phone call. "The aaaaaccountant is back!" and Natalie hung up the phone. I was off work that day, so I looked to the tracking program. Sure enough Roland stopped at the motel that morning on his way to Princeton. At 11:45, my phone rang again. "Trouble in paradise. She said she won't be back today." A few minutes later the phone rang again. "Your pal gave his regards to us all until next time and headed out the door. Good luck, Chri. Hope it's not what it looks like." I checked the tracking. They were heading towards the motel, but stopped at a steak house. Good. Plenty of time. I sat in a parking lot across from the motel, munching on a tasty sandwich from the Crusty Loaf Deli. I had brushed off the crumbs and was sipping a cup of coffee when they rolled into the parking lot. They parked right in front of room 114. I got some pictures as they hugged by their cars before walking to the motel room door, hands in each other's hip pockets. After a minute or two, I pulled into the parking lot, out of sight as before. My computer had started to record the scene as I was crossing the street. The dialog was different from before, but the actions were about the same. "Here's the contract Chris wrote up. It was embarrassing. He asked me to sign it in right in that dreadful pub he likes, the Jolly Big Joint, over on Main. That creepy guy that owns it, Dante something-or-other, witnessed it. I mean, who would write an amateur thing like that? You know? It sounds silly, but Roland, this is the last time, at least for a while. I don't want him to find out, not that he would, but he did once, so maybe again. That wouldn't be good." "Karen, just listen to this. My god, this is a contract? It's like totally folksy and the spell check was off. It'd be laughed out of court. Forget it. It's just a Perry Mason wet dream" "Who's Perry Mason?" "He was a TV show lawyer, a pompous ass. In this super serious manner, he got people to confess to god knows what on the witness stand. Totally unbelievable. Forget last Sunday, come here. Let's see some flesh!" She moved closer "Rolley, you're not listening. This is it." "Nonsense, Karen. You said that last time. I need you. You need me. Don't you enjoy what we do together? With me, you can ask for anything, do anything, and we do it! Look..." He had been unbuttoning her blouse past her bra during this blather, and pulled it down off her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. He rolled her bra and pushed it down to mid waist so the straps also trapped her arms and exposed her breasts. "Look at you, Karen. Your cheeks are flushed with lust. Your nipples are hard. I saw you squeezing your thighs together to rub your cunt." His hand slid down inside her slacks."My god, you're wet as can be! This pussy is soaking." They kissed for a very long time. Her tits were mashed against his shirt and it looked like his hand was kneading her cunt. He broke the kiss to pull her pants down. With a touch to her shoulders, she kneeled in front of that bastard and waited while he freed his prick. I must say, if I had a better video resolution, I could sell this! After a boring couple of minutes of Karen sucking cock, he picked her up, pulled her panties down past her knees, and bent her over the back of the chair. With her arms pinned to her sides and her panties holding her knees somewhat close together, it must have been a bit uncomfortable. "Karen, do you want me to fuck you? If you really mean no, now's the time to say so." "Jeezus Rolley. You and your dirty talk. OK! Yes! Fuck my cunt! Right! Just do it, god damn it! Stop talking and do me!" With wet dick and wet cunt, Roland plunged in with vigor. Karen worked one hand between her legs and masturbated to the rhythm of Rolley's thrusts. The two of them set up a chorus worthy of professionals. If aliens could hear this, they would conclude we have a language we only use while fucking. I had had enough. I closed the window and settled down to try to work with the sound turned down. I couldn't get anything done, so I started to work on this story. I picked my head up when Karen blurted "Oh my God. Look at the time! Rolley, Get dressed, I have to get home! No,damnit, I don't have time for a shower. I debated what to do next. In the end, I drove around to their room, got out of the car, and stood next to the door. My digital camera would record about 5 minutes of conversation, and I didn't have long to wait. I switched the camera on when I heard one of them slide the chain slide off the catch. Karen came trotting out calling over her shoulder. "OK, Rolley, same time next week!" "You can fuck him tomorrow, if you like!" "EEEEeek! Shit, you scared ...what are you doing here? Oh my god!" "I'm doing just what you're doing...witnessing the end of our marriage. Don't bother to go home. You don't have one. I changed the lock. I'll drop your stuff off at your mom's." "No, Chris, You can't." "Oh yes, I can. I already walked the extra mile. And more fool you. That was a $100,000 afternoon delight you just had, I get the house and our investments, and you only get 10 grand, but I suppose you realize that." "Chris, you fucking son of a bitch. You can't do that. " No point in hanging around gloating. As I opened the door to my car, Roland's head peeked around the door.