Saturday, August 11, 2018

Oops. Recall That Message!

Earlier this week at work I got a call from my wife saying that she thought someone was trying to break into her e-mail account.  I told her to go in and change the password.  I'm not sure if it was a case of her forgetting her password and having to recover, then change it, or someone actually messing with it, but she got the issue resolved.

Last night, she asked me if I had been trying to get into her account.  It isn't like I hadn't looked at her e-mails years ago.  The truth is, no, I hadn't this time around.  That was the end of that.

I think most of us have been in situations where an e-mail or text got fired off and it went to the wrong person.  Just a week ago, my wife was carrying on three simultaneous messaging sessions and that one time she is sending a nude photograph of a guy she knows to a gay friend of mine, she accidentally sends it to our son.  Ooops!  In the end, it was quite hilarious.

Hopefully your mistakes aren't quite that horrific.  But still, I think if you work in a business where people keep hitting Reply-All instead of the simple Reply button, you know how embarrassing things can turn.

I learned the other morning that a friend of mine intending to use her friendship with me to vent and blow off some steam about her husband, inadvertently sent the e-mail to her husband.  Holy hell!  Apologies were made, crow was eaten, and there is no imminent divorce proceedings, but you can just imagine how a simple thing like that could create such an issue. 

I suppose that's the risk I take every time I post another blog here.  Not that it gets sent to the wrong e-mail, but that some tricky combination of key word searches lands someone I'm not expecting to be looking for hotwife sex to stumble upon it.

And what if someone I know who is privy to this blog has their account hacked and their exposed information includes me?  Life is too short to worry about that.

My friend and I talked about the fact that, the husband knowing the truth about what she was thinking about him was not such a bad thing.  Those painful conversations that we are all afraid to have.  Gay people afraid to come out of the closet almost universally agree that once they came out, it was like a soul crushing burden was lifted off their shoulders.  The husband who craves some form of kinky sex but is so sure his wife will leave him if she only knew he wanted to wear her stockings.  And then the wife finds out and says, buy your own, I don't want you to stretch mine.

We are all so afraid of being completely honest, but our excuse is that we don't want to hurt the people around us.

I've actually seen some of the ugly things my wife has told others about me.  Not because I hacked into her e-mail account but because sometimes, she just leaves her iPad open and the messages are there, begging me to look.  And you know what? Sometimes it is helpful to see what your spouse is upset about. 

Put it this way, Google knows EVERY SINGLE THING about me.  They read my blog, they have made the simple connection between my blog name and my real name; they know what I post on my vanilla social media and where my life intersects with this personality and the other.  And yet, that hasn't harmed my relationship with Google.  So, maybe a misdirected e-mail or text isn't the end of the world.

Monday, August 6, 2018

Rules, Anger, and Openness... Too Much Openness.

As you might expect from someone who blogs about the things I do, I will have conversations in the form of emails or direct messages with a variety of men, husbands, interested in the topic of hot wives, cuckold, sharing, threesomes and the like.  Each time I start a new one of these conversations, it is almost a given that before long, there will be a statement about the fairness of our arrangement. 

Our arrangement, to recap, is that my wife has sex with a friend of ours but I do not necessarily go out and have sex with other women.  You may ask, how is that fair to me?  It’s simple.  I get off on my wife having sex with other men.  She doesn’t get off on me having sex with other women.  Or anyone else. 

This is where the DADT part of our arrangement occurs.  Yes, my wife knows I’m bi.  No, it is not a turn on for her.  I know there are a handful of you female readers who would kill to watch a husband or boyfriend engage in some bi play.  If I had realized I was bi when I married my wife, that probably would have been something I insisted on. You know, a wife who could get into watching me with another guy from time to time. 

But yes, my wife knows I’m bi and she does know that I’ve had encounters with other guys.  She even knows a few of them.  She just doesn’t want the details, though she has asked a few times.  I can tell when she is getting uncomfortable with the details so I usually cut short with, “we jacked each other”.

In other news, I’ve been going through some really weird stuff recently.  I know it isn’t helpful for those of you attempting to diagnose my issues if I can’t share all the details, but in short, I experienced a seemingly minor bash to my head.  It was a goofy slip and fall on my tile floor that seemed funny in the moment but felt like hell the next day. 

Not long after, another similar fall.  I’ve been seen by a doctor and all that but in spite of the clean bill of health, I feel different. I’ve found myself to be in a bad mood.  Not depressed, mind you, but I find myself in a state of being pissed off at things that wouldn’t normally give me a second notice. 

I am historically the most easy going, friendly guy ever.  Honest.  Lately, I feel like I’ve been a dick.  Not to my wife per se, but just in general.  Like finding myself in a moment that requires some patience yet feeling my blood begin to boil.  I don't act out in anti-social ways, breaking things or causing a scene, but I have noticed more of those heavy sighs and rolled eyeballs the way a 12 year-old girl might respond to a mother.

This all could be a function of me just getting older, more forgetful, more disgusted with the world around me.  Or I could have knocked something loose when I fell and hit my noggin.    I’m going to bring it up to my doctor. But the question is, do any of you go through phases of just being mad? This is a new thing for me.

If that wasn't strange enough, I need to take you back a few weeks ago to this post about my friend Co-Worker Rick.  If you missed it, the cautionary tale was that you should delete all our old e-mails because you could die unexpectedly and your kids might see e-mails you wish they hadn't.

Things may not have been as I first thought.  Yes, the daughter has the e-mails, yes she has seen the videos and pictures Rick sent me of his girlfriends and conquests.  Of course she saw pics of my wife's boobs, though in fairness, they may have been pics my wife sent him (she would do that from time to time).

No, the big news here is that Rick had showed his daughter.  Before you totally freak, again, we are talking an adult aged daughter her.  But still, gross.

Between conversations with the daughter (it was like pulling teeth before she would really open up about it all) and the ex-live-in girlfriend who knew it all, it turned out that Rick would get very loose-lipped during bar conversations with his daughter.  He used her as someone to lean on.  I get that, but to show your daughter a video of you engaged in sex acts?  I'm sorry, call me a prude...

Once this all came out and it was no longer me feeling bad that my friend had BURDENED his daughter with finding his naughty e-mails after he died, but instead that he was that open with her before he died, I felt a little queasy.

Besides the extreme lack of talent, grammatical skills and self-motivation, the reason I've never attempted to write professionally about this lifestyle is that I haven't been able to imagine the moment my kids would read about it.  My kids who are adults and are clearly their own sexual beings.  I hate that our society has made all this taboo, but frankly, as open as I am about these things with strangers on the Internet or people I meet, I just don't see the value in sharing my sexual story with my kids.

I have been so jealous of those brilliant writers and podcasters who can just open up knowing that their parents, siblings and children will know it all. Granted, this is why I am out as bi to most people I know, but not my kids, siblings or parents.  Maybe I'm the problem.

When I talked with Rick's daughter about this she just laughed it off.  She said it wasn't like she didn't hear him having sex with his conquests or live-in girlfriends, so why shouldn't she talk to him about it afterwards?  I'm both horrified and jealous.  But I just don't think I'll ever sit down with my kids and say, "Wow, you should have seen the cum on mom's tits and how I licked it off."

Boundaries, people.

Thursday, July 26, 2018

IGHIH: I'm About to Explode...

When you consider all the hours I spent as a young guy obsessing over how I could get into a woman's panties.  Any woman, just someone with a vagina.  And now, here I am going for days without the urge to roll over and tap my wife on the shoulder, or in our case, rub my dick against her.  It had been over a week since our last bed time ride and she was more than antsy, and I frankly was about to explode.

Wednesdays are the most likely for a visit from JD, but there is never a guarantee.  Shortly before leaving work, I got a note from my wife that she was not expecting him, so I took my time driving home and stopped to get my usual afternoon iced tea.  I was in the drive-thru when I noticed a message pop-up on my phone. "We will have a guest when you get home." 

I pulled onto my street and saw his truck parked across from our house.  I decided to make a quiet entrance so I could listen to the action in the room.  Before I could even sit my tea down on the kitchen counter, I heard JD bring my wife to a screaming, and I mean, screaming orgasm. 

I waited in the kitchen until they changed from him going down on her to her blowing him while he finger banged her.  He was standing at the side of the bed with her mouth hungrily and sloppily taking his hard dick.  His hands aggressively slid in and out of her pussy, then he'd stop and slap her pussy, all the while aggressively asking her to suck his dick harder. 

He had to know I was there, but I'm sure she had no idea.  I simply moved into the doorway, pulled my hard dick from my slacks and slowly stroked my cock as I watched the show.  I honestly thought I would explode.

When I finally made my presence known to her, there were a few giggles but they were back at it for a minute before he he asked her to stand over him so I could fuck her from behind while she blew him to completion.

He laid on the bed and she took a position over him with her ass facing me.  I quickly undressed and while I was peeling off my tie and slacks, she wasted no time continuing the blow job, her ass presented in the air just waiting. 

I moved up behind my wife, her head bobbing up and down on JD and entered her sopping wet pussy.  My intent was to just move with her hips and watch until JD blew his load, but there was no stopping the rhythm of her hips against my cock.  I'm guessing it took less than three or four minutes before I unloaded a weeks worth of my load into her. 

She moaned as I breathed in and out, trying not to disrupt the other action in the room.  My hard dick continued to grind at her super slick pussy while she worked on JD and soon he was grunting and gasping, "I'm about to explode!" 

I pulled out and moved to the bedside table for towels to clean up.  My wife showed me her fingers and hand were covered in JD's sticky cum.  What a sight. 

Probably more interesting than the sex was the casual way we all got up, cleaned up, joked about the fact that my huge load of cum had dribbled down my wife's leg and landed on JD's slacks that had been around his ankles.  He had to do a quick clean-up so as not to arouse suspicion at home.

There is a strange thing to see another man in your bathroom, reaching down to grab his toothbrush from his drawer in your bathroom vanity.  We joked about having his brand of body wash in the shower next to mine.  Just another Wednesday afternoon at our house.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

The Number: Does it Really Matter?

Aunt Clara was telling me about an assholish comment her husband made in passing.  The topic of the conversation was dating or some such and he said, "Oh come on, you slept with anyone who waved their dick at you!"

He was obviously making reference to her single days prior to marriage.  Now unless you are a husband like me, the kind who gets off on every little detail of a wife's prior sexual activities, this would be a pretty shitty thing to even think about, much less say to your wife.  I mean, he might have worded it like this: "Aunt Clara, you sure were a whore in your younger days."

And unless you are a happy Hotwife, or sexy vixen, that's probably not the statement you want to hear from your husband or anyone.

In spite of efforts over the last several years to eliminate slut-shaming and to level the playing field between men and women, sexually, we still seem to have this weird thing about the right number for women being able to fit on a single hand.  Funny, but don't most guys lie about their number to increase it?  Excluding Wilt Chamberlain, if a guy tells you that he's been with one-hundred different women, you just assume that he is adding about seventy-five to that number.  Guys want you to believe they have been with lots of women.

On the other hand, if a woman tells me she has been with four guys, I immediately triple that number, if she has been to college (excluding nun school) or was in the military. 

Why does it matter?  I listen to Dan Savage and I recall a question he got from a woman who was upset that a man would not sleep with her if she had been with another guy within the last week or some such.  It had to do with making sure her body had eliminated any residue from previous guy goo or something.  What?

I could see if you are put off by the idea of another man being in your girl fifteen minutes earlier, but really, does an entire week need to go by?

Have I become so accepting of non-monogamy that the idea that a woman who enjoys sex with more than one or two partners over the course of high school and college does not make her a whore?  Let's consider this.  What if you never had a one night stand and you dated a guy at least three times before sex.  Say you only dated once a week and then waited a week before dating someone new.  That equates to 12 one month relationships.  In four years of college that could be 48 different partners before you found Mister Right?  If you add in your senior year of high school, that makes it 60!

Now, let's be realistic.  You don't fuck every guy you date after the third time, because some guys don't get a second date, and there are some potential Mister Right's in there that get more than a month or two, so we could lower that number easily by half.  But now we are down to 30 over a five year span of dating.

Think about it.  No, I don't think I've dated even ten different women in my entire life, but I was also an introverted loser.  But I knew women who dated multiple guys simultaneously trying to filter out guys like me in their search for the guy they would marry.  Or because they liked free drinks.

But my point is, in society after the late 1960's when birth control was the norm and women were beginning to feel like they were not property for their parents to marry off to the highest bidder, we not only accepted, but expected women to date before they settled in on The One.

If you are a lady over the age of 40 and you've been with more than 20 guys, please leave a comment or send me an e-mail.  Better yet, everybody just send me your number.  Men and women.  I want to know. 

For the record, I did some math of my own.  My wife had been with two other guys before we married.  I would have doubled the number and made that four, but she was forthcoming with details about the two.  Add me and that makes three.  Now, since we've been married, there have been seven more.  So her number is ten.

My number is: Eleven women. Not counting those that stopped short of PIV sex. I'm not sure how you count men.  Does that mean full on MM intercourse? Two, plus two other attempts.  Oral? I don't know, four? Five?

Do these numbers even matter?  Should you get more points for having had threesomes, or sex with more than one partner in a 24 hour period?  I mean, what if you only had two lovers in your whole life, but it was in a porno seen by millions of people?

Thoughts on this?

Friday, July 13, 2018

Co-Worker Rick - Dredging up the Past...

Last week or so in my post about my wife's long awaited confession, I made mention of times I spent visiting my friend, co-worker Rick. Perhaps it is possible that by bringing him up, it sparked something in me to want to reach out to his daughter who I follow on Instagram.

Just a note before you get any weird ideas, this woman is a mother of two kids.  I say that to dispel any immediate concerns that I'm trying to hook up with my late friend's teenage daughter or some such; she is in her early twenties and that's not my intent.  Full disclosure though, yes, she is hot and if she had a naughty Tumblr, I'd follow it.  Just being honest.

So if this post hasn't started off weird enough, I asked her for her e-mail address because I wanted to send her a long e-mail with some old war stories about Rick and the things that would take place at work.  I think that most kids would enjoy hearing about their parents lives outside of the relationship they have at home.  My letter was three pages of funny stories and compliments about Rick. 

So what was strange was that the e-mail address she gave me was Rick's.  I guess she had his password and just felt a sense of closeness to him by taking on his account.

I had this sinking feeling in my gut, just hoping that Rick had deleted any old emails he sent to or from me.  We talked about sex a lot.  We talked about women at work, who we wanted to fuck or who we didn't.  I wrote several years ago about the phase Rick was going through where he was fucking any woman he could lure into bed and the fact that he was sending me pics and videos as proof of his own mid-life crisis.

I just think that is a thing his daughter, even if she is an adult, doesn't need to see.

So I noticed that one of his daughter's followers was an ex-girlfriend of Rick's.  Yes, I have seen every nook and cranny of this woman in both picture and video.  My understanding is, Rick told her he had shared the pics and after her initial shock, she was okay with it.  In fact, according to Rick, she wanted to have a four-way with my wife and me, but my wife put an end to that idea when Rick brought it up during a party we were at.

So I reached out to the ex and we exchanged a few e-mails.  She hinted that Rick confided in her about "everything" but it wasn't clear to me if that meant he was upfront about his alcohol abuse or the sexual hijinx he had engaged in with my wife and me.

Either way, I felt like she was someone I could openly talk to about the downward spiral Rick's life took and the fact that he drank himself to death.  So unlike the longwinded e-mail I sent to the daughter that was full of fun and proud memories, I gave her the unvarnished truth about how his behavior at work led to him being dismissed.  I told her how hard it was to watch this guy just give up on his professional life in favor of spending his days at a bar.

After several e-mail exchanges, usually disjointed blurbs from her as if she was so excited that her mind was typing faster than her fingers could, I arranged to call her.  I had come up with a series of questions I wanted to ask, but among the first was how much she knew and if she thought the e-mail account the daughter was using contained any details that should have been long ago deleted.

For the first part, she told me that she knew every single detail about everything Rick had done with my wife and me.  I told her I assumed as much and it was no big deal or anything I was ashamed of.  She was very straight-forward with her, "You guys have nothing to be ashamed about, or worry about."  

Granted, this ex had been out of the picture with Rick for close to a year before he passed, but she told me how the house had become such a place of turmoil with the daughters running roughshod over everything as he sunk deeper and deeper into the bottle.  She said the girls we manipulative and while he would privately complain about them, he was such a loving father that in spite of the pain they put him through, he couldn't seem to get control.

She told me about the shitty way Rick had essentially moved a new woman into the house under the auspices of helping out a friend, only to find out that he just didn't have the courage to break up with her (the ex), until one day he came home drunk and put her and her belongings out on the street.

Keep in mind, there are multiple sides of every historical event or break-up, but given his situation, I'm not doubting that her version of events was at least ball park close.

Throughout the conversation, the ex repeatedly told me how much she had loved, and still loved Rick and how much she continues to care for his daughters.  She mourns his death and like me, is a little saddened that the daughters along with Rick's mom couldn't seem to pull off a memorial of some sort.

By the end of the call, I felt like I had gotten whatever closure I was going to get from this lady.  She thanked me for being someone who understood the pain she was feeling and hoped that we could talk more at some point. 


People, delete your old e-mail.  I know there is this urge to hang on to past conversations or the pics someone sent you on a lark.  You don't need it.  Just look at the e-mails and the pics, jack off or whatever you need, then delete it, empty the trash and move on. 

Google makes it so easy to never have to empty your mailbox, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't.  Anyone could get hit by a car tomorrow and unless you already share an e-mail account with your spouse or your kids (like apparently Rick did), there is no need to put them through any pain after your death with e-mails and such from your naughty Internet play.

Of course, this advice from a guy who has a sex blog.

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Weird Anxiety Dreams...

Throughout my life I've been plagued with these anxiety dreams, not so different from a lot of people. You know the one. You are late for class and you get to your locker and you can't seem to get the combination to open.  You know you have the right combo.  It is 16-22-36.  Yes, that is one of my actual school combinations and for years it was a frequent number in my dreams.

At some point in adulthood, my anxiety dreams about lockers and being late for class made a dramatic shift.  I started having these dreams about places I had lived or visited in the past.  Not my house per se, but places in towns.  Riding my bike from a great distance to try to get home, but there was always some situation preventing me from getting there.  A traffic thing or perhaps a dog on the loose or maybe a bad person that had to be avoided, taking me further away from the shortest path home. 

Later, and probably for the last decade at least, my anxiety dreams have centered finding a place to poop.  Yep, I'm one of those people who can't just go at any corner gas station, at a friends house, or in a restaurant. It makes sense that this normal bodily function that causes me occasional stress in my awakened hours would cause me a huge amount of anxiety in my dreams.

I seem to revisit these old buildings that I've been to in my life, either previous military installations or old homes of friends or just places that have morphed out of something in the darkest places of my mind.

At first, the issue always seemed to be finding a suitable toilet.  Imagine if you found a restroom that was abandoned and with each cubicle door you opened, there was something wrong.  Either the toilet was broken, or it was disgusting, or the door had no latch.  Each of these infractions cause you to move to another area, and by the time you find the right place, people come in. 

An interesting thing was the design and layout of these restrooms.  All of these places have at least some amount of familiarity to me, either they are part of a place I have been or worked at, but once in the restroom, they appear to be designed with no functional method.  Like toilets in a cubicle facing one another, or a toilet sitting in a shower area where you'd be sitting there as people showered around you.

And most of these places have dozens of toilets and showers.  Years ago when I lived in military dorms, there was usually a set up with six stalls in a row for commodes, six sinks, six urinals, and then a room with nine shower heads spread three each across three of the walls.  In my dreams, there are just toilets, some in walled cubicles, some in the open, interspersed amongst showers and sinks.  There is no real rhyme or reason to the layout.

In each of these dreams, something else has led up tot he moment that I am in need of the restroom.  That is, it could be a perfectly normal dream about anything, then suddenly, I'm in one of these places with weird bathrooms.  The entire point of the first part of the dream is gone, and my only focus is on where to go without people watching me.

Okay, so that's the background.  And if you've made it this far...

I woke up this morning from a super weird dream with a morale question.  I was at this gym like facility with just rows and rows of toilet cubicles.  As my weird dreams go, this was actually pretty good.  I could almost imagine this being a  real place.

After some amount of time wandering around in only a towel (as if I was going to get in the shower), I finally find a stall that is not next to another occupied stall, and I go in, lock the latch and life is good.  But nothing in these dreams is ever perfect.

At some point I look up and notice that hanging on the wall is someone's clothes.  Just like in a gym where some people forgo the locker and simply hang their clothes up in the open, but these were in a stall.

Next, I notice someone outside my stall and they are talking loudly.  Where previously, the stall had been perfectly secured, I now see a man peek in, looking at me sitting there.  I mumble that the stall is occupied, and the guy pulls his head away.

Now, the latch on the door is gone.  The door swings open and a lady with a scowl on her face informs me that I'm in her stall.  I suggest that she can have it as soon as I'm done.  I try to push the door closed, but it is useless.  Not only is the latch gone, but the door has gotten so small that there might as well be no door.

Now, a daughter, an adult aged daughter appears and says that I'm in their stall and their clothes are in there.  I suggest they gather there clothes and I can finish. 

I attempt to cover myself with the towel and I stand up with the intent of handing them the clothes.  But now, the three of them are attempting to force me out of the stall. 

Here is the question.  Does it make sense that you would hang your clothing inside a toilet stall while you are at the gym or the pool or wherever, thereby limiting the use of that toilet?  That's what the lady said was the policy in my dream.  That once you stake out a toilet, it is yours until you are done.  My counter to that was that if there was a lock on the outside, I'd buy it, but the only lock is on the inside, thus, the only fair use of the stall is when you are locked inside.

People, this is what happens when you don't have the social skills necessary to take a dump anywhere and in front of anyone.  You have anxiety dreams about finding a place to poop.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

The Confession: Finally...

I've often written about the confession game where my wife and I will be engaged in a slow comfortable fuck session, usually her riding me, just slowly grinding away, and I will begin asking random questions.  Of course, at this point in our lives, there aren't a whole lot of new answers, especially given that over the last year, there has been so much open discussion.  But, this weekend, I got confirmation of something I had pieced together at the time.  She admitted to and provided details about the affair with the truck driver.

This all goes back fifteen years ago at a time when, as a couple we were fairly miserable.   Our kids were old enough to be self-sufficient teens, not requiring us to be at home with them, etc.  Of course, that meant that they were old enough that any at home antics would have to be very carefully orchestrated.  In short, our threesomes were pretty much on hiatus back then.

At the time, my wife was still working and she usually worked early Sunday mornings.  This was also around the time that I was just getting into Internet chat rooms as had used Sunday mornings while the wife was at work and the kids were sleeping in to leave the house and meet-up with a guy I met online for brief jack-off sessions.  I was just learning to accept my interest in other guys.

My friend Rick, may he rest in peace, would invite me over to his house on Sunday afternoons so we could watch football. This often meant that I was leaving the house at about the same time as my wife was getting home from work.

I should mention now that my wife has always had a jealous streak, hence the reason that our threesomes have never included a second woman, in spite of several offers over the years.  If she were interested in other women sexually, she's told me the sex would have to be without me there.  Bat least she knows herself and is honest about it.

The problem with jealousy is that for her, it goes beyond fear that I might desire another woman.  For her, that jealousy is around not paying attention to her.  So when I was spending several hours away at Rick's house watching football, I was ignoring her.  It wasn't Rick, it was that I wasn't home.   You could fill in that time with golfing or reading at a library or going to a class.  The who wasn't the issue, it was that I wasn't attached to her hip.

I know that makes her sound shitty, but that's just the situation. It has gotten slightly better over the years, but still, I certainly don't golf.

So during these Sundays, I'd come home and her bitter complaints about how I was off doing whatever I wanted to do without regard for her and the kids (who, by the way, were doing their own things), made her feel like I was abandoning her or something.  In hindsight it was just so ridiculous.  Each Sunday I'd have to put up with the wrath of her bitching, then it suddenly changed.

She announced that during my football time, she'd be meeting with "the girls".  I've always known when she used that term, there was little chance she was meeting with her ladies from work.

During sex I would play the confession game (we've done this for years) and I'd ask about different guys she worked with.  One guy she mentioned was the truck driver who delivered for her restaurant. For the sake of a name, I'll just call him Bill since I haven't used that name yet.

This guy Bill would come in on the weekend to make a full delivery, then stay overnight before leaving in the morning. Something to do with logs and the maximum number of hours on the road.  She implied that he slept in his truck, so I had this fantasy of her fucking Bill in the sleeper of his 18 wheeler.

She would imply that there was flirtatious conversations and even that he had shown her the inside of the truck - the entire inside to include the sleeper. Of course, this would get me off but she wouldn't confess to actually fucking him.  As our confession games very often ended up with her telling a very tall sexual tale, then admitting it was all made up, I loved the idea that this guy was flirting and maybe being flashed.  I just guessed that if in fact they fucked, she'd eventually tell me about it in one of these confession stories, and then tell me it was true. 

That never happened until this weekend.

What I learned was that during the time she was "going out with the girls", she was meeting with Bill.  He was staying in a hotel, not his rig, and at first it was just meeting for lunch but it soon turned into sex.

She kept it from me because even though we were no strangers to MFMs or even her fucking friends of ours without me being present, this was an affair created, in her mind, by me not being there for her.   

If your first reaction is to yell, "That fucking bitch!", I completely understand.

Truth is though, it only confirmed what I knew all along.  I knew she was fucking someone and I assumed it was Bill. She just wouldn't confirm it.

One Sunday I got home from watching football with Rick earlier than normal.  It must have been a crappy game.  The kids were off doing whatever they were doing and when my wife came in, I knew she had been with another guy.  You just know these things.  His scent was on her.

I shut the bedroom door and locked it, then I as much as ripped her pants off her.  She tried to keep me from pulling off her panties, but my face was going in her crotch, no matter what. 

She relented and when I pulled her panties down, they were soaked.  I went down on her but I only tasted her and another man's scent, though no male cum.

He wore a condom, but her juice was obvious.

She told me that after I seemed to be on to her, that was the last time she met with Bill. She was too afraid I would bust her and leave her.  The funny thing is, even then she could not see just how turned on the whole thing made me.  I stopped the Sunday football games with Rick and in reality, she got just what she wanted.  More time with me.

Now, you could be saying to yourself, perhaps her confession this weekend was one of those sexy tall tales, but there is no question.  The fact that she narrowed down the time frame to that particular time I was insistent on going down on her.  In fact, she said that I was so aggressive in wanting at her pussy that it was technically like a rape scenario, and not in a good way. 

The following morning I honestly hadn't given this confession much of a thought. It was great to finally get the conformation and the specifics (the hotel versus the truck, etc), but it wasn't news, per se.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked as she poured coffee.


"You know.  What I told you last night." 

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Why would I be upset about that?"

And the truth is, why would I be?  What does some irrational husband do after all this time.  This changes everything?  I think not.