TITLE    : My Wife Fucked Her Boss
STORYID  : my-wife-fucked-her-boss
SUMMARY  : But I won in the end.
AUTHOR   : Ephesus14@lit
DATE     : 2020-04-12
CATEGORY : loving-wives
FLAGS    : h
TAGS     : |cheating wife|cheating wives|affair|sexy lingerie|marriage|


<strong> </strong>



As with most of my stories, there is not a lot of sex. For those legal eagles who read this story, be advised that you might find a problem or two with the legal stuff. If you do, remember that this is a work of fiction.



I had lots of help with this story from a good friend, and, of course, Blackrandl1958 always makes everything she touches better.



<strong> </strong>



<strong>My wife fucked her boss</strong> ... but I won in the end.



I like cars.



I'm not a gearhead, but I know the difference between a lug nut and an oil pan gasket.



There are a couple of programs on TV I enjoy watching that show how cars are restored from beginning to end. Depending upon the car and degree of restoration desired, it can take years and tons of money to completely restore. Due to the magic of TV, however, it can compress the real time restoration into one hour, or maybe two, and the car will be completely dismantled, cleaned, painted, and rebuilt. Some of those guys are geniuses with the way they work metal and fabricate parts. It's amazing to watch.



I also like to watch auto auctions on TV and see how much cars I like, but can't afford, cost. That's what I was doing when my world crashed.



I am a thirty-five year old contractor who owns his own business in Carlisle, PA . I had my first job when I was 12. Actually, I had three jobs at the time. I would re-stock the shelves of our neighborhood grocery store right after school, then go across the street and clean the beauty shop after it closed. The other job was babysitting, on Saturday mornings, the small son of the owners of a bakery up the street.



As time went along, I had other jobs. At 16, I was busting up concrete sidewalks and driveways with a 16 pound sledge hammer on weekends. I used a sledge because the man I worked for was an alcoholic and drank all his money away so he couldn't afford air-operated equipment. His name was Rocky Jensen, and he was very likable, but he liked his Brandy and drank two bottles of it every day that I worked with him. That was two bottles during the work day. Goodness only knows how much he drank after work. But he was smart and he taught me a lot; both about life and about business.



I continued to work on weekends with Rocky and when I graduated from high school, I worked with him full time. When I was 19, he disappeared. Vanished. Nobody had any idea where he went, so I took over the jobs we had and the Lucas B. Stanford Construction Company was born. My name was Lucas, but I answered to either Lucas or Luke.



Over my last year or so with Rocky, I managed to convince him to buy some equipment and get into the modern era. As a result, we had a big air compressor, a backhoe with trailer and assorted air-operated tools when he disappeared so we used them.



I started buying my own hand tools when I first started busting concrete when I was 16. By the time I was 23, I had a pretty nice business going. My crew was doing the work and I was mostly giving estimates and bidding new jobs.



One Tuesday I was asked to price a new gazebo. It was going to be a huge sucker. I took the measurements, scoped out where it was going to be built and got all the information I needed from the home-owner. He wanted it fast so I went to the nearest restaurant, ordered breakfast, and started to figure the cost.



I had trouble concentrating because sitting at the table next to me was a young lady who was just attractive enough to keep drawing my attention. We kept exchanging glances, so finally I just put my pencil down and moved my chair close to her. We talked for an hour and exchanged phone numbers.



Our first date was the following Friday. It was the same day my bid for the Gazebo was approved, so I was ready to celebrate.



Her name was Christine (Chris) Gerard. She was 24, which was one year older than I was. She was born and raised in Carlisle, PA. Her father owned a restaurant in town. They made the best Stromboli in the state. Her mother worked in the plant that made tires for utility vehicles, and they shipped nationwide. I know that because Chris worked in their shipping department.



There were two high Schools in Carlisle; Carlisle High and Cumberland Valley. The kids call Cumberland Valley, Cow Valley, because of the cows in the fields around it. I graduated from Carlisle High; Chris from Cow Valley.



She, like me, was not exceptional in school. We both did what we had to do to graduate and nothing more. I was more interested in getting out of school so I could go to work and earn some money. Chris was interested in just getting out of school.



We dated off and on before one day realizing that we had been exclusive for several months.



We had gone together seven weeks before we had sex for the first time. It was nice, but I'd had better. She had a nice body, but I'd seen better, and she had a great personality: probably the best I'd ever seen.



The sex got better and I'd like to think I had something to do with that. She started working out because she wanted to look better and it worked. All in all we got better together. She helped me realize that there was more than work in the world: that time with loved ones was important. Laughing and having fun was important as well. Her wanting to laugh and have fun might have been the cause of our downfall.



We were married in Hershey, PA, at the Hershey Hotel. There were over a hundred people who watched us exchange our vows.



Our lives, like those of most newlyweds, had a few bumps, but mostly it was ideal. She had a job she liked and would come home talking about the truckers who came to either drop off material or pick up tires. She loved their stories and loved telling me those she was able to remember. I had a small but growing company and we had money; not lots of it, but enough to put a sizable down payment on a very nice house.



We had talked about children, but neither of us was interested. Maybe later, we both agreed.



By that time I had 30 employees and the jobs I was able to bid on kept getting bigger. Experienced workers were available whenever I had jobs that required more men. I say men, but there were women as well who knew which end of the hammer to hold.



In our eighth year of marriage, Chris was promoted. Her new title was Assistant to The Director of Shipping, with a very sizable pay increase and she was now paid a salary and not hourly. She would come home and explain how easy it was to order 10 or 15 rail cars so they could ship their tires all over the country. She never talked much about her boss. I knew his name was David Enfield and he was older than she was. I also heard from her that he collected cars. Other than that, she had told me nothing about him.



She had been in her new job for slightly over a year when the changes started. Our sex life virtually stopped, except for when I almost insisted on it. She was rarely happy at home in the evenings and seemed happier in the mornings or on weekends when she was getting ready for work.



Her style of clothing changed. Whereas she normally wore Jeans and shirts, she started wearing skirts, blouses, and dresses: attractive, stylish ones. It was like she was growing up and finding herself. I found it both alluring, and, to a degree, comforting.



Chris's mannerisms and mode of dress improved, but her need for sex seemed to diminish.



She also worked more hours. The plant was a three-shift, 24/7 operation. In her job in the shipping department, she worked a straight eight-hour shift with some occasional overtime. Her new job started as a normal 9 to 5 job, and stayed that way for almost a year. On reflection, her changes in dress and manner coincided with her working more hours. Her work did not just limit itself to longer hours during the day, but more time at the plant in general. I took care of paying the bills so I knew how much she was making and her time away from home coincided with more money in her paycheck.



She and I discussed it on several occasions, but the more I wanted to talk about it, the more she didn't so we usually got nowhere.



I was watching one of my car shows on a Saturday afternoon when one of my friends from high school called.



"What's up, Mikey?" I asked when I answered the phone.



"Hey, Luke. I bet you don't know where your wife is."



"Of course I do; she's at work." I answered.



"Only if work means riding in a locomotive."



"What?"



"Apparently, they're moving some cars around the plant and she's in the locomotive with the engineer and some other guy."



"That's cool. I always wanted to do that." I told him. We chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up. Riding in the cab of a locomotive? That would be fun, even if it was just around the railyard. I was sure I would hear about that adventure when she got home.



Silly me. What was I thinking?



"How was your day, dear?" I asked as she came in from the garage through the kitchen.



"Same shit, different day." She said as she flew by me without even a short, small, kiss. She did leave something else. I detected the smell of a man. After shave? Deodorant? Cologne? I wasn't sure, it was so brief, but it was a definitely a masculine smell and was not the smell you would expect from a locomotive.



It wasn't two minutes before I heard the sound of the shower.



I retrieved a beer, sat in front of the TV and watched some mechanic install a new suspension system on a 1967 Corvette. Through the miracle of TV it only took him a couple of minutes



Chris came downstairs about twenty minutes later drying her hair with a towel. She usually dried it with her hair dryer in the bathroom. She came over to me, leaned down and gave me a peck on the cheek.



"Sorry I didn't do that before, but I had to pee."



"Do what?"



"Kiss you, silly."



"Oh, was that a kiss? I didn't notice."



"You never complained about my kisses before."



"That's because you've always kissed me before. What you just did was a peck not unlike an aunt would give."



"Humph. Did we have a bad day?" she asked as she went to the kitchen.



"Yeah, and it just got worse in the last half hour." I mumbled.



"What did you say?"



"Never mind."



I assumed she was fixing something for dinner when I heard rattling around, so I went upstairs.



Out of curiosity, I went to the bathroom and looked for the clothes she had worn. We had a clothes hamper we always used for our dirty clothes. I lifted the lid and looked through it. Nothing. The clothes she was wearing less than half an hour before weren't there. I looked closer. It was Saturday. She usually did laundry on Sunday. I used to help with the laundry, but for the last couple of months she had insisted that she didn't need any help.



Normally there were at least five different changes of clothing and underwear for each of us on laundry day, but there were only two for her in the laundry basket.



Curious, I started looking around while listening for the sounds from the kitchen to make sure she was still there. I looked in what I thought would be the obvious places and found them on the first try. In her closet way in the back in a corner were four plastic bags. Each bag had a set of clothes including underwear and each bag contained the same masculine smell I had detected earlier. I chose not to smell the crotch of her panties.



I went downstairs and sat in my recliner



"Spaghetti for dinner. About five minutes."



"Nothing for me, thank you."



"Christ, Lucas," she stood looking at me "you could have said something before I started."



"I was hungry before you started. I'm not hungry anymore."



"Well, kiss my ass. You can clean the fucking kitchen." Fucking kitchen? She had never said anything like that before. It reminded me of other words which had crept into her vocabulary. Cunt and cocksucker had become favorites. I had never heard her use those words, and I certainly never used them, but recently they had become commonly used words for her. Not that I was not used to them because I owned a construction company and construction workers, like soldiers and sailors, had the reputation of having rather salty vocabularies.



The most interesting use of a combination of profane words I've ever heard came from one of my female carpenters. She was carrying some lumber when she tripped, fell, and the lumber landed on top of her. "Dick suck breath" came out of her mouth. I had never heard the expression dick suck breath, and I'd venture to say not many others had either. After that, everybody in the company called her DSB.



Anyway, after I told Chris I wasn't hungry and she told me to clean the fucking kitchen, she stormed upstairs in a huff. When I went up sometime after midnight, she was asleep.



Sunday's were generally fun days around our house, but that particular Sunday was not. I watched as she went to the laundry room to start doing the laundry. I wanted to see how she did it. She normally washed the dark load first. I don't know when she retrieved the plastic bags filled with her dirty clothes and put them in the clothes hamper, but she had and she tried to keep me between her and the clothes. It was almost comical to watch her moving to keep me away.



I smiled to myself and just pushed her aside.



"Let me help you, sweetie." I said as I started putting the dark things in the washer. I picked up one of her blouses and started to put it in the machine, but I hesitated and put it to my nose while looking right at her. I inhaled deeply before she grabbed it out of my hands and tossed it in the machine. "When did they start spraying your office with bug spray?" That's what his cologne, or whatever it was he was wearing, smelled like. She ignored the question, grabbed the blouse out of my hand and threw it in the washing machine.



For the rest of the day she was the perfect wife. I had not cleaned the kitchen the night before as she had told me to, so she cleaned it without saying a word. All day every wish I had was her command. She touched me lovingly every chance she had and I never had to ask for a beer all day.



Now, I freely admit that I had no solid evidence to prove she was cheating. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. The only thing I had was what she smelled like when she came home. I know that wasn't fair of me. Her hiding her dirty clothes? That could be explained by having the smell on them, and she didn't want thesmell in the bathroom, but why hide them? Why not put them in plastic bags in the bathroom? Or the garage? There was also the locomotive ride. Why wouldn't she tell me about it? One would think that was a very big deal and would brag about it; but she didn't. These were all small things that niggled at me. I almost wished I had something solid to base my suspicions on, but after knowing her for nine years, I knew, absolutely knew, something was wrong.



At bedtime, we found ourselves in our bedroom undressing. She came over to me. "Need any help?"



"Sure." I said as she took her time getting me naked. Then she did the greatest thing any man's eye has ever seen. She undressed. Any woman who loves a man, or a woman, enough to undress in front of him or her, and then give herself to that person has given the greatest gift one can give another person.



Unless, of course, she is trying to hide something in which case she is, to use one of Chris's newly favorite words, a cunt. Cunt is used in this case as a derogatory term.



I stood and watched her until she was naked. At that point, I went to my dresser, opened the drawer which held my pajamas, took out a pair and put them on.



"What are you doing?"



"Getting ready for bed." Then I went in the bathroom and started brushing my teeth.



She came in still naked. "But I thought we were going to play around."



I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, wet my toothbrush and spoke. "Play around? Isn't that what you do when you cheat? I thought married couples made love." I went back to brushing my teeth.



When I went to bed, she wasn't there. I didn't see her until the next evening. I slept until my regular time to get up. I dressed, and left. That evening when I got home, she was not in a good mood. She stayed that way until Thursday. That's when she told me she was going out of town for the weekend.



"Why?"



"My boss was scheduled to attend a transportation seminar, but he can't go, so he asked me to go for him."



"This is very sudden. You've never had to go out of town like this before. Are you qualified for something like this?"



"He seems to think so. All I have to do is listen, take notes, and bring them back to him."



I had never met her boss. The company wasn't the kind to have company parties, or Friday evening get-to-gathers. It was more like, go to work, do your job and go home. A no-nonsense Pennsylvania Dutch company.



"Where is this seminar?"



"In Atlanta."



"Atlanta? And you leave when?" I was in shock. I just learned that my wife was going to Atlanta on business for the weekend: business which I doubted she was qualified for, unless maybe it was monkey business. See? There it was again. I, again, had no reason to think she was cheating or was going to cheat, but that thought leaped into my mind the minute she mentioned going to Atlanta, and it wouldn't go away. Of course, I know that not everyone who goes to Atlanta goes there to cheat, but niggle, niggle, niggle.



"Tomorrow."



"Can you tell him you can't go?"



"I could, but then my job is at risk."



"Why? Because you can't go to Atlanta on company business?"



"Pretty much, yes."



"Well, that sucks."



"It's just one weekend. It will probably never happen again."



She was packing her suitcase when I left for work on Friday morning. We gave each other a peck on the cheek as I went to my car.



"I'll call you tonight," she said as I walked out.



She did. "Hi. I'm at the hotel. It's a great hotel. Fancy as shit and our... uh, my ... room is huge."



Don't you think that if you were going someplace, that it would be nice for your spouse to know where you were going to be staying? I would think so, but apparently Chris didn't, because she never gave me a name for the hotel, phone number, or room number in case of an emergency. Of course, we had our cell phones, but still. Niggle, niggle.



"Okay. Have fun if you have time."



"Oh, I'll make time."



I was afraid she would be doing exactly that.



The next day was Saturday and I decided to call her mother.



"Hello, Lucas," she said as she answered.



"Hi, Mom. How are you?"



"Not bad. How're you and Chris?"



"Couldn't be better. Speaking of your daughter, would you happen to know the name of her hotel?'



"I didn't know she was staying in any hotel. Where is she?"



"She's in Atlanta."



"What's she doing there?"



"David Enfield was supposed to go to a seminar there and couldn't go, so she went in his place."



"Atlanta? That seminar is in Florida. Miami, Florida and Mr. Enfield left yesterday."



"Oh. I guess I got confused, never mind. Thanks, Mom." The niggling stopped and the suspicions started.



It was still Saturday morning and I had spent most of the morning going through our only computer looking for anything I could hang my hat on, either good or bad. I found nothing.



Then I went through her clothes and her underwear drawer. That was an education. There was shit in there I had never seen, but had obviously been worn. There were two bras the type of which I had only seen in catalogs. It looked like they only covered the lower half of the breast. They were hotter than hell, and I would have loved to have seen Chris wearing them. There were also a couple of thongs there. Chris had always maintained that she would never wear something like that because she didn't "want a string in her ass crack." I thought if she didn't take these on her trip, exactly what did she take? There were also some dresses I hadn't seen. One was so thin I could imagine that if she wore that and one of those "half bras" and a thong, there would be absolutely nothing left to the imagination of anyone who looked at her.

<hr pg="2" />It was early afternoon and my mind was going in circles as fast as it could go. I didn't know what the result would be, but I had decided to confront her immediately upon her arrival home. No, hell no, I'd do it right now.



I called her cell several times but she never answered. I thought of flying to Atlanta but realized that there were way too many hotels and motels for me to check.



At some point, I realized that I was hungry so I fixed myself an egg salad sandwich and poured a tall glass of cold milk. I went to the living room and turned on the TV. Chris was not much of a TV watcher and the channels I watched were limited. I watched the Science, History, and Car channels primarily so it was no surprise that the station that was on, when I turned the TV on was a car channel, and an auction was taking place. They were auctioning off some really cool cars from the 40's, 50's, and 60's. At the first commercial break they ran since I started watched, I learned that the auction was live from Fort Lauderdale.



The camera was scanning the crowd and for just an instant, I saw someone who looked amazingly like Chris. Stop it, I told myself. Now you're paranoid and are driving yourself crazy. I chalked it up to the idea that everyone supposedly had a doppelganger and I had just seen my wife's, but I watched a little more carefully.



They had auctioned off some really nice cars and as I normally did, I tried to figure out how so many people had so much disposable income that they could pay so much money for a car that would most likely sit in a garage and be brought out mainly for car shows. These were not daily drivers.



At the auctions where they sell rare, or "special" cars, millions of dollars could be spent a single car. The one I was watching was a relatively small auction. It still boggled my mind, and, for a while, at least kept that same mind off the possibility that my wife was cheating.



At the auction, they had just driven (Some auctions push the cars being auctioned off) a beautiful 1946 Ford convertible up onto the stage for bids and it appeared there were three people bidding on it. The TV cameras kept bouncing between the car and the bidders. Sitting right behind one of the bidders was my wife and she was sitting next to a man who had to be several years her senior. I could definitely tell she was with him because occasionally I could see her hand running up and down his leg. There was no mistake. It was Chris and my life would never be the same.



I had tried calling her before so I decided to try again. I picked up my phone and called her. I saw her take her phone out of her purse, look at it and show it to her companion. They both laughed as she put it in back in her purse.



The bidder in front of them stopped bidding and I never saw them on camera again.



I left my unfinished sandwich and milk and went to the room we used as an office. I rummaged through her side of the desk until I found it. The emergency notification chart for the tire company. It listed all the senior officials and their phone numbers. I found David Enfield's home number and called it.



"Enfield residence."



"Is this Mrs. Enfield?"



"It is."



"Mrs. Enfield, this is Lucas Stanford. My wife works with your husband."



"A lot of people work with my husband, Mr. Stanford."



"I realize that, but I'd be willing to bet none of them work as closely as my wife does."



"What do you mean?"



"He's out of town right now, isn't he?"



"I don't think I have to answer that question, Mr. Stanford."



"No, you don't, but he is in Florida."



"What's your point, Mr. Stanford?"



"My point is that I just saw him and my wife on TV at an auto auction. They looked very cozy."



There was a long silence. Finally, she spoke. "That doesn't mean anything."



"You're absolutely right. That in and of itself doesn't, but my wife told me that she was going alone because he couldn't go. Does that not cause you to wonder?"



"Assuming you are telling the truth, yes, but I don't know you so why should I believe you?"



"You should't, but may I make a recommendation? The auction I saw was live, but it will be re-broadcast starting at eight this evening. Does your husband like old cars, Mrs. Enfield?"



"Yes, he does. He collects them."



"Then may I suggest you watch the auction? You may find it boring, but hang on until they auction off Lot Number 82. It's a black 1946 Ford Convertible with red interior. Watch the bidding on that car. Your husband and my wife are sitting directly behind one of the bidders. Oh, and while we're talking, would you give me the hotel they ... he is staying at."



"Why should I?"



"There is no reason you should, Mrs. Enfield. It's just that I would like to know for sure if my wife is with him. The fact that she may be cheating is tearing me up and I would like to find out one way or another." There was a long pause. "Mrs. Enfield? Are you still there?"



"I'm here Mr. Stanford. Here is his hotel." And she gave me the telephone number and number of his room."



"Thank you, Mrs. Enfield."



"I hope you're wrong, Mr. Stanford."



"So do I, Mrs. Enfield."



I waited a few minutes before I called the number she gave me, and asked if they could ring Chris's room. I was told that there was no Christine Stanford registered. I thanked them and hung up. I waited a few more minutes, called back and asked for Mr. David Enfield's room and they connected me. No one answered so I left a message. Of course, they could have been too busy to answer it.



"Mr. Enfield, this is Lucas Stanford, Chris's husband. I'd like for you to give her a message for me. Tell her that she can ride on all the locomotives with you she wants to, and go to all the seminars with you she wants to, and fuck you all she wants to, but from now on, she does it while living with you or someone else because she no longer lives with me. Tomorrow, when the two of you get back, her clothes will be in the garage. She may need your help moving them to wherever she goes. Enjoy the rest of your seminar Oh, by the way, your after shave or cologne or whatever it is, smells like bug spray."



It was later that evening when she called.



"Yes," I said when I answered.



"Luke, It isn't what it looks like." She only called me Luke when she wanted something.



"It isn't?"



"No, sweetie, it isn't. This is a business trip."



"Okay let me ask you a couple of questions. First. Did you lie to me about your trip when you said he couldn't go?"



"Yes, but ..."



Next. Did you lie about where it was going to be?"



"Yes, but ..."



"Next. Do you have your own room?"



"No, but ..."



"Next. Are you and he staying in the same room?"



"Yes, but ...



Next. How many times have you fucked him?" There was nothing but silence. "Chris? How many times have you fucked him?" The phone went dead. I went to the garage and got several large lawn bags, the kind you usually use for leaves from the yard. Three hours later there was very little sign that she had ever lived there; except in the garage. That's where all her stuff was.



I was sitting on my zero-turn lawn mower cutting the grass on Sunday afternoon when her car pulled into the driveway. I had anticipated her return so had the garage door open and waiting for her. She got out of her car and headed toward me. I kept mowing. She was almost running beside the mower talking but I couldn't hear her because of the engine and the fact that I had my headphones on to reduce the sound of the engine. She started speaking louder so I revved the lawn mower engine. I kept mowing and she kept running/walking and talking. I never heard a word she said, but apparently our neighbors did, because they started gathering at the foot of our drive. She finally saw them and ran to try to get in the house. She couldn't. She ran back to me and I revved the motor as high as it would go. She had nothing to say I wanted to hear, at least not yet.



I watched as she started loading her stuff into her car. Two of our neighbors helped her. I stopped the mower, took off my headphones, and watched. She had crammed as many bags in her car as she could. She thanked her helpers, looked in my direction, saw me watching, and walked over.



"I couldn't get everything in my car. Please don't throw any of it away. I'll be back to get it when I can. Just give me a day or two." She paused for a few seconds. "Can we talk?"



"Can you tell me why we've been married for eight years and you decided to fuck another man?"



We just looked at each other before she spoke again. "No, I can't." She turned and walked away.



"I hope it was worth it," I said to her back.



"So do I." I heard her say without turning to look at me.



On Monday morning, I went to my office, which was nothing more than a construction trailer on a small lot I owned. All of my employees met there for briefings every morning before work so it was my chance to talk to them.



"My wife spent the weekend in Florida with another man so I'm going to divorce her," I said. "Even though she cheated, the courts will most likely give her half of this company. When that happens, I'm going to walk away from it." Then I stopped. Walk away? Maybe that's it. I dismissed them all to go to work, then I headed for my business attorney's office.



Samuel Goodings was just getting to his office when I got there. "Sam, I'm desperate. I need advice in a hurry."



"Okay Luke," he said as he put his briefcase on his desk. "Can I at least get a cup of coffee first?"



"Get me one, too." I said.



"Okay. What's going on?" he asked as he brought our coffee, set it down, then sat at his desk.



I told him my story, then added. "I have an idea how I can save my company, but it's pretty far out there." Then I explained. "I really didn't start my construction company. A man named Rocky Jensen did. I worked for him for a couple of years, then one day he just disappeared. I knew the customers we had so I just continued doing the work. The equipment we had at the time belonged to Rocky. I just started using it and as the company grew, I replaced it with newer equipment. I incorporated as an LLC, and I pay business taxes and unemployment taxes and all the other taxes, but in the strictest legal sense, who owns the company, Rocky or me?"



Sam just looked at me before he spoke. "You do realize that this is Monday morning, don't you? That means that my brain doesn't start functioning until noon. Let me think about this for a day or so. In the mean-time I suppose you are going to file for divorce and need a good lawyer for that."



"You are correct." He gave me the name of another attorney: one who handled divorces. Sam called and told him I was on my way to see him.



Five minutes later, I walked into his office. It was one floor down from Sam's. After an hour, he had all he needed to start the paperwork. "I want her served as soon as possible."



"Would Wednesday be okay?"



"That's good."



Around noon, Chris called. "I went to the house to get the rest of my stuff, but it was locked. Could you come over and let me in?"



Twenty minutes later, I parked in front of the house. I couldn't get in the driveway because her father's pickup truck with his trailer was backed in and taking the whole driveway. She was sitting in the truck with him. They got out when they saw me walking towards them.



"Hello, Luke. We'll be out of your way pretty soon," he said.



"Hello, Tom. Take your time."



"You know you're wrong about Chris, Luke. She never slept with him."



"They shared a hotel room for two nights, Tom. She smelled like him every night for weeks. She was playing with his leg on national TV and when I asked her how many times she had sex with him, she just hung up on me. She could very easily have denied they had sex, but she didn't. I'll tell you what; you ask her right here. Right now. In front of me. Ask her if she ever had sex with him. Go ahead."



We both looked at her. Her head was hung in shame.



"No. I don't think I have to," he said. "Do I, Chris?"



She shook her head no.



"The only question I have for her is was it worth it? I'd like for her to answer that some-day."



I went in the house as they loaded her stuff. It didn't take them long. When they were finished, I went back to work.



She was served in her office first thing Wednesday morning. The man who served her said that just as he served her, a man walked out of the office behind her, watched, said nothing, then returned to the office he came out of and closed the door. The name on the door read David Enfield. At ten, my phone rang. It was Chris. "Did you have to do it at my office?"



"Did you have to cheat in the first place?"



"Can we at least talk about the divorce? Can't we work through this?""



"No."



"Then let me ask if you can you forgive me?"



"Not in this lifetime." I hung up.



An hour later. I received another call.



"You miserable son of a bitch. Just because your wife is a slut, you didn't have to call mine."



"Well, hello, Mr. Enfield. Where are you calling from?"



"What difference does it make where I'm calling from. You're an asshole wherever I'm calling from."



"I just wanted to know if Chris can hear you."



"She's standing right here, asshole."



"So she just heard you call her a slut. Good luck getting any more pussy from her." I hung up.



It was a day for phone calls. The next one was from Sam, my attorney. "You may be on to something, Luke. Your alcoholic mentor might have a claim on your company. Here's what I think you ought to do. Continue running the company, but roll it up into a big trust with you as the sole trustee. I'm not sure if it will work, but what have you got to lose?"



"Get it started, Sam, and let's see where it goes."



The last non-business call of the day came from Mrs. Enfield. "I want to thank you for cluing me in."



"You're certainly welcome. What are you going to do?"



"I had him served this morning. This is the second time he's cheated on me, and it will be the last."



"Good for you."



"Mr. Stanford, I have a deal for you."



"Uh, I don't know, Mrs. Enfield, I'm not into revenge sex."



She laughed. "Neither am I, but you're a man, so I assume you like cars."



"I do."



"Good. Why don't you come over and take a look at David's cars? We might be able to make a deal."



An hour later, I was looking at six cars ranging from a 1937 Chevrolet Coupe, to a 1957 Chevrolet BelAir Convertible. Those two would top out at over $100,000 if you tried to buy them. There were six other cars. All Chevrolets, but the '37 and the '57 were the two that tripped my trigger, and I told Mrs. Enfield.



"How would you like to buy them?" Mrs. Enfield asked. "It just so happens that those are his favorites. As far as I know, he's only driven the '57 twice in the three years we've had it. Once we took it to a car show and the other time he was showing it off to the other bitch he cheated on me with and he took her for a ride and fucked her in it."



"Are you sure?"



She laughed. "I caught him with his pants down ... literally. He was fucking her in the back seat. After she found out he was married, she came back and fucked him again.



"It's a nice thought, Mrs. Enfield, and as much as I would like to, there is no way I could afford them."



"Oh, I bet you could. Do you have two dollars?"



"I beg your pardon?"



"Do you have two dollars?"



"Yes. Why?"



"Give it to me and both of them are yours."



"You're kidding me."



"I assure you, Mr. Stanford, I am not. My money paid for those cars and they are in my name. I can do what I want with them." There was a pause, while I was trying to get over the shock."



"Well?" she asked. I took out two one-dollar bills and handed them to her. "Come with me."



We went in the house where she searched through some files and came up with the titles for both of the cars. She signed them then handed them to me. "There you go. Have fun with them."



"He's going to be pissed." I told her.



"I hope so. I believe he loves his cars, especially those two, more than he loves me."



"Then he's an idiot."



"Yes, he is. Thank you, Mr. Stanford, for making me aware of what he was doing. Are you okay?"



"I think so. I had my wife served today, also."



She laughed again. "It must have been an interesting day in that office."



I agreed.



It was five by the time the two roll backs arrived to take my treasures home. Actually, not my home, but to my parent's home. "I will get them out of here as soon as I find a place to keep them." I told my parents. Neither they nor I could believe I bought them for one dollar each. I would love to have been a fly on the wall of that house when Enfield found out they were gone.



I rented climate-controlled storage space for both of them and taking them there was the first time I was able to drive them. It was a treat. I was one lucky bastard and started thinking that maybe I did okay in the deal. I got rid of a cheating wife and got two unbelievable cars, in return.



I expected to get a call from Enfield about the cars, but I didn't. I assumed she never told him where they went, but I would make every effort to ensure that he saw them around town. They were not going to be stuck in the garage or storage unit.



I never heard directly from Chris, either. Our circle of friends pretty much stayed the same. They kept me up to date with Chris's life, and vice versa, I'm sure. It appeared that neither of us were dating. Not that I was moping around for Chris, I just never met anyone I felt like spending time with.



I did learn that Chris was living with her parents and was no longer working at the rubber plant. It seems she overheard Enfield calling her a slut, so she slapped the shit out of him not once, but three times bloodying his nose before she stormed out.



We did cross paths at one party. I was there when she walked in, saw me and immediately left. The host and hostess apologized saying their signals got crossed on who was inviting whom. I told them it was not a problem. "I don't think we hate each other; I just hate what she did."



We did see each other at Sam's office a couple of times. Her attorney must have been fresh out of school because he bought the business trust, lock, stock, and barrel. And, of course, they didn't know about the cars. I didn't exactly fail to disclose I had them because legally, I didn't think I owned them yet because my name wasn't on the titles. I wanted to wait until the divorce was final before I claimed ownership. I was probably wrong about that, just as we were on very thin ice with the trust thing.



Finally, the day came for our court appearance. The weather had turned cold and we weren't in the courtroom long enough to get warm. She, meaning the Judge, approved what we had ironed out in the meetings and it was over in about three minutes.



I was just ready to walk out of the Courthouse and I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Chris. "I'm sorry, Luke. I never thought it would come to this. I just wanted a little fun."



"And I wasn't fun enough?"



"I didn't think so. He was everything I thought you weren't and I thought I wanted that. I was wrong."



"Are you still seeing him?"



"No. The trip to Florida was the last time. I haven't seen him since I slapped him for calling me a slut."



I smiled. "I heard about that. Is he divorced?"



"I don't know and don't care."



"Okay, well, I have to get going. Good luck to you."



"You, too, Luke. Uh, Luke. Do you think we could maybe have a drink sometime?"



"Sure we can. As soon as you figure out a way to unfuck David Enfield."



I turned my collar up against the wind and walked outside into the cold and wind a single man. The first thing I did was take the titles to my new cars to DMV and have them titled in my name. The next thing I did was to get them insured.

<hr pg="3" />I spent thanksgiving with my parents. Nobody missed Chris.



Christmas was coming, and my lead carpenter, Jacob Lapp, was having a party. Through a lot of lucky scheduling I had been able to keep all of my employees busy so far during the winter with lots of inside remodeling jobs.



Jacob's family were members of the Amish community. We had several Amish communities near us. They lived in towns with names like Bird-in-Hand and Intercourse.



I had a dozen Amish men working for me. I tried to keep them separate from "der English" because of the colorful language used by "der English" (der English being any non-Amish person).



The Amish are fantastic workers. They know what they are doing and they are honest. The Amish don't drive automobiles; they have horses and buggies, and they don't have plumbing or electricity in their houses; but if they sell milk from their farms to "der English," their barns must have electricity to keep the milk cool.



I had two vans that picked them up from a central location, took them to the work site, then, at the end of the day, took them back. I had over my desk one of the sayings I heard from one of my Amish workers. "We grow too soon old and too late smart."



I felt that way most days.



Jacob broke away from the Amish way of doing things and became one of der English. He married an elementary school teacher and they had three children. His wife's name was Fannie. I always enjoyed going to their house because the food was great.



There were about thirty people at the party including Fannie's sister, Ruby. I had never met Ruby before, but she and I spent some time together and it was noticed by both Jacob and Fannie. Jacob took me aside. "I think it's only fair to warn you that she has trouble holding on to relationships. She is fickle and doesn't care who knows it."



"Thank you, Jacob. I've had my share of those and don't need any more." With that, I found myself spending less time with her. The party lasted a long time and it was almost midnight when I got ready to leave. I retrieved my coat and scarf and was saying my good byes to Jacob and Fannie when Ruby came up to us. "Good bye Ruby. It was nice to meet you." I said. We shook hands and as I started to pull mine away, she used her other hand to touch me on my arm.



"Same here, Lucas. I hope to see you again."



"That would be nice," I said.



The day after Christmas Jacob and I met at the construction office to go over some longer-range projects. We were confident that we could keep everybody working for the rest of the winter.



We had finished the work schedule, when he made himself another cup of coffee.



"What are you doing New Year's Eve?"



"Probably staying home. Why?"



"Ruby asked Fannie if she thought you might like to go out to dinner with her."



"I don't know. I don't need "high-maintenance" right now.



"Listen, Dinner with an attractive woman on New Year's Eve is not a lifetime commitment, but you can suit yourself. I don't care either way I'm just a messenger boy."



"Okay. What's her number?"



New Year's Eve found me with Ruby at the restaurant in town with the best Stromboli. It also happens to be owned by Chris's father. It was Ruby's choice but I didn't object and it certainly wasn't any fancy pants place where you had to wear a tie, but the food was probably the best in town.



We had finished eating and I had ordered a Stromboli to go. It would be my lunch the next day, New Year's Day. The waiter brought my "go" order and the check. I left a tip at the table and we went to the register to pay and leave. There was another couple in front of us paying their check. The door opened and Chris came in. She was with a man and they were laughing. She stopped when she saw me.



"Happy New Year, Lucas."



"Happy New Year, Chris." I handed the check and my credit card to the cashier.



"You doing okay?" she asked.



"Yeah. Fine. You?"



"I've been better."



"Take care, Chris." I took my receipt and card. "Come on, Ruby."



We didn't really have any plans for after dinner, but I had booze at my house and she didn't because she was a non-drinker; so we went to my house. Chris and I sold the house we had and split the profit so I had bought another one.



It was only nine o'clock and we still had three hours until midnight and the New Year. I got myself a gin and tonic and Ruby asked for non-alcoholic eggnog. I didn't have any, so she settled for a coke. We just hung out and talked until midnight, then we pecked each other on the cheek and I took her home. An altogether underwhelming New Year's Eve.



When I got home, there was a car I didn't recognize sitting in my driveway. It was cold and I could see the exhaust so I knew the engine was running. I used my garage door opener and drove in and shut my motor off. I got out and turned around.



"What are you doing here, Chris?"



"I thought I'd see if you wanted to have a drink and celebrate the New Year."



"The New Year happened two hours ago."



"I know. Can we go inside where it's warm?"



I shrugged my shoulders and headed for the door that leads to the kitchen. We went in and took our coats off.



"How long have you been out there?"



"Not long. Thirty minutes or so. I was getting ready to leave when you pulled up."



She walked into the living room and saw the two glasses on the coffee table. She looked at me and smiled. "Remember what we did last New Year's Eve?"



I laughed. It was a good memory. We started fucking at nine and stopped at three the next morning. "Yeah. We did that on more than one occasion, didn't we?"



She smiled. "Yes, we did." There was a pause while she sat. "May I have something to drink?" She picked up Ruby's glass and sniffed. "Something with alcohol in it, please?"



I made us each a G&amp;T and sat in my recliner.



She took a long drink. "Do you realize that this is the first Christmas season in nine years we haven't celebrated together?"



"That's true."



"Your girlfriend is cute. Why did she leave?"



"She isn't my girlfriend. Tonight, or rather, last night was our first date. What about your date?"



"We've been out a few times, but there's nothing there."



We sat and sipped our drinks. Finally, I spoke. "Where are you working now?"



"I'm not. I haven't worked since I walked away from the plant. It seems my reputation for fucking the boss has spread all over town. I feel sorry for my poor mother. She's still there and people are still talking about David and me."



We sat in silence for some time sipping on our drinks and trying not to look at each other. Finally I spoke. "Let me ask you a question. When did your affair start?"



"A year after I started working with him."



"So you fucked him for almost seven months?"



"More like five."



"How did it start?"



She chuckled. "The same way all affairs start, I guess. We were together all day. We talked about our lives. He started telling me how unhappy he was with his marriage and how nice it would be to be married to someone like me who understood the pressures of his job. Then after I started to sympathize with him and his life, he started telling me how bad mine was. He told me everything I wanted to hear. He talked of the places we would go, the things we would see, the things we would do.



His effort to get me in bed started in earnest after we had worked together about eight months. As time went along we got closer. He would sit on the corner of my desk and talk to me. He would sit so that when I looked at him, I couldn't help but notice he had a hardon, and every so often he would make sure I was watching and he would reach down and straighten his dick through his trousers as if just looking at me made him hard and he kept getting harder. We got so comfortable and casual with each other that we both started doing things that were not "spouse approved."



"Like what?" I asked.



"Things like he would pick imaginary lint off my blouse and each time he did it he got closer to my breasts. I found myself wanting him to get closer and eventually he did. He picked something off my breast and moved his hand to my nipple, which by then was as hard as a rock.



"After that it didn't take long for us to start having sex. But aside from the sex, the worst thing he did was make me believe that you didn't love me."



"How did he do that?"



"By convincing me that of all of the places he would take me, and the things he would do with me, that you had the opportunity to do them over the years, but you had failed. And any man who failed to do those things couldn't love his woman." She paused, took a drink of her G&amp;T, looked at me and spoke again. "I believed him and I was wrong, Luke. Horribly wrong and I'm sorry."



"Just out of curiosity, how many times did you fuck him? We're divorced and you are under no obligation, but for me and my curiosity. How many?"



"How many times did we actually do it?"



"Yeah."



"God, Lucas, I have no idea."



"Guess. A dozen? Two dozen?"



"I can't say. It was a lot. We even did it in a locomotive once."



This was not an easy conversation for me to be having, but I started it so I was determined to follow through. "I heard you were riding in a locomotive."



"Where did you hear that?"



"Mikey saw you and called to tell me."



She smiled. "That was a fun day. We rode up and down switching cars around. When we were finished David asked the engineer if he would leave us alone for a few minutes." Then she just laughed out loud. "He was an older man and he said that union rules and company policy wouldn't allow it, but if we wanted to play around for a bit, he would make sure nobody else saw us. Nobody else? I asked him if that meant he was going to watch. 'My train. My rules.' he said with a leer. David and I looked at each other. How often would we have a chance to fuck in a locomotive, so we did and the engineer watched us and jacked off.



"We thought about it later and decided that it had been a bad idea because the engineer would probably blab it all over town, but apparently he didn't, because we never heard so much as a hint about it."



"How about Florida. How did that come about?"



"We hadn't had sex in a bed very often; only when we knew his wife was gone and we did it in his bed." She saw the look on my face. "We never did in in our bed, Lucas. Ever. Anyway, he was going to that seminar and he just happened to mention how much fun it would be if I went with him. He made it sound like it was a spur of the moment idea, but it wasn't. He had it all planned, and I fell for it.



"So we, actually he, thought that if I told you it was going to be in Atlanta that you would be less likely to be suspicious, if you were to be suspicious at all, which we both believed you weren't. When did you first become suspicious, by the way, and how did you know where we were?"



I told her. First about the smelly clothes and finding them in her closet. Then about the locomotive ride when she didn't tell me about it, and finally the auction when I saw them on TV.



"Holy cocksucker." She said, reminding me of how colorful her language had become. "What are the odds of that? And had you not seen us, you and I would still be married? Motherfucker. What a stupid mistake."



"Oh, you would have made another one sooner or later. Cheaters always do."



"Well kiss my ass. And Florida wasn't all that much fun anyway."



"It wasn't? Why not? I mean besides my phone call."



"That pretty well sums it up. Your phone call, that is. We got there in the afternoon on Friday and he had to register. After registration and the welcoming party in the hotel ballroom, we went upstairs and did it twice. The next day was Saturday and we did it before his first meeting in the morning. Then we skipped out of the seminar that afternoon and went to an auto auction. We did it again when we got back to the hotel. He was scheduled to attend a late afternoon briefing and when he came back, I was naked and waiting for him and we did it again. You called and left your message while we were doing it. When we were finished, I noticed the flashing red light on the hotel phone which indicates a message. We were both naked in bed when he played it.



"After we listened to your message, I went to the bathroom and threw up. We talked most of the rest of the night and he skipped the Sunday Morning meetings.



"You destroyed our marriage for that?"



"I never said I was smart."



"One thing I've noticed is that even though you have apologized, you haven't shown any remorse and here tonight you've talked freely and without guilt about the affair. Are you not remorseful?"



"Remorseful? You bet your ass I'm remorseful, Lucas. It's the worst thing I have ever done and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. But am I dwelling on it? Fuck no. I have to get up every morning and go through my day. Every day I see something that reminds me of what you and I had and I hate what I did. Every time I see your truck go by, I could kick my sorry ass for treating you the way I did. Every time I drive by our old house, I think of the good times we had and I could shoot myself. Don't for one minute think I'm not remorseful."



That's when her tears started.



"Now look, you bastard. Look at me." I took my handkerchief out and gave it to her.



"Thank you," she said.



"Thank you for telling me."



She almost smiled. "I figure I owed you. After all, what harm could it do now, right?"



"Right. Well, it's late and I need some sleep."



"I could spend the night and make sure you get to work on time in the morning."



It was my turn to chuckle. "It's New Year's Day. I don't work on New Year's Day."



"Even better. We can stay awake all night and all day and make up for some lost time." She stood and started unbuttoning her shirt."



"I don't think so."



"Come on, Luke. Just once for old time's sake."



"Never happen."



"You really mean that, don't you?"



I nodded.



She buttoned her blouse back, picked up her coat and started for the door. "You said once that you hoped my affair was worth it. I can tell you now that it most certainly wasn't. Good-bye, Lucas."



A week after Chris left my house, I called Ruby and asked her to dinner. She accepted. It was a very nice evening so I asked her out for another one. And another. Pretty soon we were seeing each other regularly.



Two months had gone by, and Ruby and I had dinner with Jacob and Fannie then went to my house. Two months and I had not seen any evidence of the fickleness Jacob said she had. I had assumed we would do what we normally did at my house; I'd have a G&amp;T while she had a coke and we would find something on TV to watch, then snuggle together on the sofa. I had come to enjoy those nice calm peaceful evenings and was looking forward to another one. The evening usually ended around 10:30 or 11:00, when I would drive her home, or, if she had come in her car, she would leave and drive herself. In any event, the evenings always ended with a nice gentle kiss. I had never made any untoward moves of a sexual nature to her. Not that I hadn't wanted to, but- .... well- .... her Amish background was holding me back. Not that she was a practicing member of the church, but in my mind it would be like fucking the preacher's daughter and you could really piss God off doing something like that.



The movie we were watching ended at 11:00. I stretched and reached for the remote. "I guess it's about that time."



She moved in a little closer to me. "I thought we might do something different tonight."



"Like what?"



She looked right at me. "I'd like to spend the night."



Bam. Instant hardon and she felt it.



"Are you sure?"



"Oh, yeah. I've been sure. I've just been waiting for you."



"Well, wait no longer." I stood took her hand and led her to my bedroom. I almost dragged her down the hall. On the short trip, I was trying to decide if I wanted to just out and out fuck her brains out hard and fast, because it had been a looong time for me, or should I take it slow and loving.



I shouldn't have wasted time thinking about it because when we got within three feet of my bed she hit me with a flying tackle that would have made any pro football player proud. We both flew through the air and landed on the bed. She was on top of me and literally ripped my shirt off me. Then she sat astraddle of me and ripped her own blouse off, , stripped her bra straps off her shoulders and down pulling her bra down with them.



My dick was hard and was poking her while she undressed both of us, but when I saw her tits, my dick became a railroad spike and it lifted her completely off of me. When that happened, she kissed me with an unbridled passion that I had never experienced.



I had heard that preacher's daughters were fantastic sex partners, and if they were redheads, it was even better. I'm here to tell you that Ruby was the absolute most fantastic sex machine I had ever experienced, seen, read about, or heard of.



And she gave no clue about it. For the months we had been going together, I had no clue how wild she could be.



After our first three rounds of unbridled passion, we were lying in bed resting.



"Where did that come from?" I asked her.



She laughed. "I don't know. It's never been there before."



"How many times have you tried?"



She didn't answer immediately so I figured I had overstepped my boundary. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business."



"No. It's all right. Three. There have been three others, but it was never anything like this."



We both called in to work in the morning and took the day off.



We fucked until noon, when she went home.



I had dropped hints about the possibility of her maybe moving in with me, but she never took the bait. I was beginning to think that maybe we weren't as exclusive as I thought we were. Maybe her fickleness was beginning to show. I started walking a bit softer around her and not being as free as we chatted.



Jacob and I were drinking coffee one day after work.



"How're things with you and Ruby?"



"They were fine, but recently things seem to have cooled down a bit. I was going to ask you if you knew of anything going on that I should know about."



"How long have you two been seeing each other? Three months?"



"About that. Why?"



"That's about right. She should start getting a little antsy if she hasn't already. Don't be surprised if she starts turning you down when you ask her to go out. And don't forget that I warned you about her so don't hold it against me if she does something stupid."



I grinned at him. "I remember you warned me and I won't hold it against you." I downed what was left of my coffee. "Let's go home."



I hadn't talked to Ruby in about three days which was unusual. I also hadn't heard from Chris since her early morning New Year's Day visit to my house. Likewise nothing from Mrs. Enfield, either. One day I was polishing the '37 and decided to give her a call.



"Hello Mr. Stanford. How are you?"



"Call me Luke, please. I'm doing great. Cleaning one of my new cars and thought of you so I figured I'd see how you were doing."



She laughed. "Not too bad for an old divorced lady and call me Louise, please."



It was my turn to laugh. "So did you did divorce him?"



"You bet your ass I did. And I sold all of his cars. Not at the same good deal I gave you however. I shipped them all to Florida to the same auction we, or rather, you, caught him attending. He was one mad son--of-a-bitch, but I didn't care."



"What's he doing now?"



"The last I heard he was flagging traffic on the turnpike for the construction crews. Nobody around here wants anything to do with him. This is too small a town and too many morals for someone like him to last very long. I think he's talked to a couple of headhunters so something might pop up for him somewhere else. "



I laughed again. "Well maybe flagging traffic is something he can handle."

<hr pg="4" />"I doubt it. He's called a couple of times wanting to talk, but I tell him I'm too busy fucking you, as a matter of fact."



"Me?"



"Yeah. There is nobody on earth he hates worse than you, so I figured I'd rub it in just a bit."



We both laughed. "Good for you. Anything to keep him pissed off."



We chatted for another couple of minutes and she closed with, "Don't be a stranger, now."



Over the course of the winter, I had spent some time in my climate controlled storage unit working on my two cars and getting them ready for Spring. Well, it was Spring, so I thought I'd invite Ruby to go for a ride with me. I tried calling her, but she didn't answer. I sent a couple of texts, but she didn't respond. I figured I didn't need to be hit over the head.



I took out the '57, and drove it around town before going to Jacob's house. I never told him I had it so I was going to show off. There was a car I hadn't seen before parked in his driveway so I parked on the street. Both he and Fannie came out to look at it almost before I turned the motor off, but they both seemed more interested in their house. Finally Jacob spoke. "Look, Luke, Ruby is here with a friend. We just found out about an hour ago and I was going to call you."



I took the hint. Jacob and Fannie were both in a tight spot with my coming over unannounced. "No big deal, Jacob. I'm a big boy. You warned me about her."



Fannie hugged me. "Jake, I'm sorry."



I hugged her back. "It's okay. Really."



"We're still your friends, you know, and you are welcome here anytime," she said



I smiled. "As long as I call first?" We all three laughed. I got in my car and looked toward the house. Ruby was standing in the window and she waved. I saw no reason to wave back.



I drove home.



My phone rang just a few minutes after I got home. It was Louise Enfield. "Hello, Louise. How are you?"



"Pretty good, all things considered."



"Great. What can I do for you?"



"How about taking me to dinner? Or letting me take you."



"Really?"



"Sure. Don't you get hungry?"



"I do and it would be my pleasure."



I picked her up and decided that she cleaned up real nice. We went to one of the few upscale restaurants in town, and had a perfectly enjoyable evening. It was when I took her home that things got interesting. She invited me in and I accepted. We both had our drinks, and were sitting in the living room.



"Luke, I have a favor to ask."



"Okay."



"It's a really big favor and I have no right to ask it."



"If I can, I will. What is it?"



"David is coming over tomorrow evening with some papers for me to look at. I know it's just to have a chance to talk to me to see if he can get back in my good graces."



"Do you want him back?"



"Hell no, but I do want to teach the bastard another lesson."



"How does the favor come in?"



She turned a delightful shade of red as she spoke. "I would like for you to be sitting here in your bathrobe with a drink in your hand when he gets here, and I would like for you to pretend that you're here often enough to have your bathrobe here. Would you do that for me?"



I didn't even have to think about it. "Of course. Would you like for me to bring one of the cars?"



"Oh, my God. That's evil. Yes! Do it!"



"What time?"



"He said 6, but he's always early. How about 5. That would give you time to change, have a drink, and walk through the house and be familiar with it."



"Okay. See you at 5 tomorrow." I was going to enjoy this.



At 4:45 the next day, I pulled the bright, shiny '57 Chevy into her driveway. She saw me coming and opened the garage door indicating I should pull in. Great idea, I thought. He would think I spend a lot of time at his former house. She met me and led me inside.



"I'm leaving the garage door open so he can see the car. In the meantime, let's walk around so you can get familiar with the place. Did you bring a bathrobe?"



"I did. It's in my little case." I lifted a little overnight bag I brought. "I brought a toothbrush and razor just in case he looks in the bathroom."



She laughed. "That should fix the sorry bastard." Then she paused. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"



"Absolutely," I said. "One question before I change. I also brought a pair of PJ's in case you wanted those under the robe ... or I could wear nothing. Which would you prefer?"



She grinned an evil grin. "Let's go all the way." I went to her bedroom to change clothes. It was a very nice, feminine room. It had probably been re-done since he left. I chose to go commando under the robe.



I came out to her living room where she was waiting. "What kind of drink would you like to have when he gets here."



"I'm kinda partial to Scotch and soda." I fixed her half of a usual drink and did the same with my G&amp;T. that way it would look like we had been drinking for a while. She left to go change.



When she came out she was wearing a bathrobe. She indicated where I should sit. It looked like his chair. It was big and comfortable with wide arms and small utility tables on either side. We sipped our drinks and waited.



He rang the bell at 5:45. Louise took her drink with her to answer. The first thing I heard was his voice. "I see you have my '57 back."



"It's back but it isn't yours," she said as she led him into the room. He saw me sitting in his chair and stopped cold. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked.



"Oh, you two don't know each other. David, this is Lucas Stanford. You know his wife, Chris, I believe."



It took an instant for it to register and he took a couple of steps toward me but thought better of it.



"What is he doing here?" he asked.



"Oh come on David. What do you think he's doing here? He and I have been fucking since the day we saw you on television. Revenge fucking I think they call it." She still had her drink and walked over and sat on one of the arms of the chair I was in. She crossed her legs and I saw very nice legs going all the way up. She put an arm around me and sat there. I reached over and put a hand on her leg and moved it up causing the robe to open even more. "Then we both liked it so well, we kept it up. Convenient, huh?"



"Well, I don't like it."



"Well, you don't have to like it. You can go fuck yourself ... or Chris," I said. I took a sip of my drink then put the cold glass on Louise's chest where the bathrobe closed. She looked at me, shivered, then smiled. Then she leaned down and kissed me. "Don't forget where we left off, sweetie." Then she stood. "Okay David, what's so important?"



He was bright red and foaming at the mouth. I figured that before he left he was going to attack me and I was going to have to defend myself.



"David? What's so important?" she repeated.



"I was going to talk about selling the house, but not while he's here." He indicated me.



It was Friday. "Okay. Why don't you come back on Monday when he's at work?" she asked.



"You mean he fucking lives here?"



I'd had enough so I stood and walked to him. "What's it to you who lives here? You certainly don't. You gave up that privilege when you chose to fuck my wife. Now either conduct your business or leave. Your EX-wife and I have things to do." I put my arm around her and kissed her. "Get the picture, asshole?"



He tried to speak, but couldn't because white foam kept coming out of his mouth.



Louise took my left hand and put it inside her robe. I felt soft flesh and hard nipple. "She looked in my eyes but spoke to David. "You know the way out, David. We're going to be busy." She took my hand out of her robe and led me down the hall towards her bedroom. We heard the front door slam as he left, but she kept leading me down the hall. We were in her bedroom when she turned to me. "I know I'm a little older than you are and we can stop now or not stop now. Do you have a preference?"



We decided to stop ... the next day at lunchtime.

