How do you know if your wife is cheating on you? Is it a change in her mood? Does she leave the house in the evening? Does she always want to go out “with the girls”? There are hundreds of things to look for, but for me, it’s just a gut feeling.
I came home from work and heard my wife on the phone. The second I came in, she said, “Gotta go, he’s home. Bye.” That’s what gave me this terrible gut reaction.
I thought about asking Cindy who she was talking to, but she could say anybody, even a telemarketer. Thoughts like this couldn’t just come into my mind, could they? Surely, my subconscious had detected a pattern and wanted to warn me. I didn’t like it. Change scares me; I’m more of a “leave it alone till it breaks” type of guy.
Cindy and I—I’m Ron—married nearly twenty-four years ago. We have four kids, two of them grown and two still teenagers. We don’t have a lot, but what we have is ours. We have a small house, but we’ve paid off the mortgage. Our cars aren’t the newest, but there are no payments. While we have a few small credit card debts, that’s about it. We’re an average American family who try to live within our means. My wife and I work, take care of the house, and sometimes do a few things as a family on weekends. But we also have to attend practices and events for every activity our kids belong to: sports, band, scouts, and any other thing they’re involved in. We sometimes even manage dinner together, a rarity nowadays.
Our sex life is probably like most people our age—once every two weeks or so. I wish it were a lot more, but it takes two to tango. Cindy hasn’t been much into dancing lately if you know what I mean. Now, because of my stupid gut, I have to be on the lookout for any odd signs from Cindy. It’s like I don’t trust her anymore and for no reason. I’m just hoping my gut feeling is only indigestion.
My problem is that I’m no super sleuth. I don’t know much about the video cameras and phone bugging stuff, and I’m not rich enough to hire a private investigator, especially since I don’t have the slightest clue what to look for. Cindy handles all the finances, so I have no idea what she pays or when she pays it. If I start looking through all the bills, she’s going to want to know why. What do I tell her? “My gut hurts, so you must be fooling around on me?” Boy, I bet that would go over big.
Our marriage seems normal, whatever that means in this day and age. We met while in our twenties, dated about a year, and then got married. She popped out a kid about every two years. I got tired of the pop-outs, so I had a vasectomy after the fourth one.
Well, this was one of those days that the two teenagers, my wife, and I get to have dinner together. The kids talked a little about school, and Cindy talked about her job at the library. After the two youngest kids entered high school, she started getting bored and took a job at the local library. It was only part-time with irregular hours.
Maybe that’s one of the places that I needed to check out. But how do I do that? I can’t just take off work and sit in front of the library to see who she talks too. It would be everybody who walked into the place! She’s the librarian!
Tonight she has her girls’ card club, so I guess I could start my private investigation after she leaves. I would have to follow her in my old truck. I could hardly afford a rental like they do in the other stories.
I left minutes after she did. I knew where she was going because she told me and left me a number where to get hold of her if I needed her.
I lost her, or rather, she lost me in the traffic, so I just drove over to Marge’s house where the card game was supposed to be. When I got there, I saw Cindy’s car among the others parked out front. I waited a few minutes to make sure no one else was coming and then got out of my truck, which I parked a couple of blocks down the street, and walked up to one of the windows to peek in.
When I looked in, I saw two small folding tables with four women playing cards around each one. It was another dead end, so I slowly backed up to return to my truck and stepped in a pile of dog poo. “Damn it,” I muttered and continued to my vehicle. I had to clean the crap off my shoes before getting in, and still, it stunk all the way home.
When I got to the house, I went straight to the office nook, turned on the computer, and entered her password. She told me what it was; we had it posted next to the computer. I went through all the e-mails, which in hindsight seems pretty stupid because we have a joint account, and we both used the same e-mail address. Of course, I couldn’t find anything. Then I located the bills file in the filing cabinet and went through it, but nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye. She was good; for a cheating wife, she was excellent.
I went to the bedroom and looked through her closet for anything that seemed out of place. Then I carefully went through all her dresser drawers but found nothing. Next, I went to the clothes hamper and looked for her underwear. Good, she hadn’t washed clothes yet this week. I pulled a pair her panties out of the hamper, feeling the crotch as I brought it up to my nose.
Ugh! I don’t care what anyone says, panties that have sat in a hamper for a few days stink. It’s not the same as being horny and going down on your woman. Everything smells good during sex. These were a few days past the expiration date.
For the last three hours, I’d searched for any kind of evidence and just couldn’t find any. When I read stories on the computer, the men find all sorts of stuff: phone logs, motel bills, soiled panties, hang-ups on the telephone. They hire private investigators. They plant phone-listening devices and follow or have their wives followed. Sometimes they find nude photos, VCR tapes, and even catch strange men in their beds. My Cindy must be good, really good.
As I was starting to put everything away, the door opened, and in came Cindy. I still had her dirty underwear in my hand when she saw me.
“Okay, Ron, time to talk. You followed me to Marge’s, and then I saw you staring in through the side window. The window was opened, by the way, and I heard you curse. Did you step in some dog crap? That’s where they let their dog do its business.
“Now I come home and see you checking my dirty underwear. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you don’t trust me. Do you think I’m cheating on you, Ron?”
“I don’t know, Cindy. I have this gut feeling; I’ve had it all day.” I replied.
“Come over here, honey, and let’s talk. Were you reading erotic stories on your lunch hour at work again?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Were they ‘Cheating Wives’ stories?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said again.
Then she asked, “Did you think about me while reading these stories?”
“Of course I did,” I replied. “Then I came home to find you on the phone, and you said, ‘Gotta go,’ and hung up.”
She looked at me and smiled. “I don’t know whether to be mad at you or just hug you,” she said.
I looked at her and said, “Please don’t lie to me. Who were you talking to when I came in?”
“Your mother,” she replied. “She calls me almost every day, as you well know. Ron, have I ever done anything at any time to make you suspicious of me and not trust me.”
“No,” I replied. “It was just my gut feeling.”
“Honey,” Cindy said, “you’re a trip. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d be mad. But you are my man, regardless of how weird you are. I love you with all my heart, even if I don’t say it regularly. Maybe we don’t make love often enough, but we can remedy that.”
Cindy took me by the hand, walked me into the bedroom, locked the door, dimmed the lights, and started undressing me. Then, I lay on the bed and watched her strip, getting harder by the second. Once naked, she climbed on top of me and inserted my hard cock into her pussy. God, it felt good. She rode me like a bronco horse. I couldn’t hold back very long and quickly shot a load deep into her pussy. I heard her squeal as she pressed down on my cock.
Cindy got off of me, smiled, and gave me a kiss. “Do you feel better now?” she asked.
“Baby,” I replied, you’re the greatest, but what about my gut?”
She smiled and started laughing, then said, “Take two Rolaids, honey. You have indigestion.”
Then she looked at me and said, “And, baby? Stop smelling my dirty underwear; that’s nasty.’
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