A Cheating Wife

Fran was a professional, and as such, she would leave town from time to time to go to conferences and meetings and such. It was expected of her; part of her job. Nothing to complain about, just part of the package of her career.

She always got especially excited when Stephen was going to be at one of the out of town conferences. Stephen Haverford was one of several paramours she had enjoyed during her rather long eight years of graduate school.

"I'll have someone to schmooze around with, to share meals with, to gossip with," she once explained, and truth be told, I could see that. What was strange, however, was that before she'd leave to go off to one of those events, she'd be especially amorous. Upon her return, though, not at all. It was the usual: her time of month, not in the mood, my timing was awful -- maybe later, headache or tummy ache, or one of her dreaded migraine headaches. The pattern repeated.

It seemed clear to me what was going on, but the evidence was circumstantial. Finally, I just out and asked her, "Fran, are you cheating on me at the conferences you go to? With Stephen Haverford, or John St. Ives, or anyone else?"

"Doug, answer me this," Fran replied. "Is it cheating if you see an old lover from graduate school, a real friend, and you hang out with him during the conference? I hope you don't consider that cheating, because I've done that with Stephen Haverford, John St. Ives, and Sean Kavanaugh." Kavanaugh was a new one; I hadn't even known about him.

"That depends, Fran. Are bodily fluids exchanged?" I asked.

"You mean, do we kiss? Of course we do. So what?"

"Were you always fully clothed when you kissed?"

Fran was silent again.

"Did you fuck any of Stephen, John, or Sean, or anyone else?" I asked.

"Certainly not!"

"Want to tell me what happened, then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you shouldn't be asking such questions. I love you and I'm dedicated to you, and I don't share my body with other men, and I'm disgusted with you for thinking I might."

I didn't get any sex that night, nor for the rest of the week. As the week wore on, however, the cold shoulder gradually warmed. Saturday night, Fran was fucking me fantastically. One of the things I like about my wife is that she loves sex, and especially, she loves sex with me.

"It must have been hard, at your conference, to go without sex the whole time," I said.

"It was. I bought a dildo and thank goodness I have an excellent imagination," she said.

"Who did you imagine you were fucking when you used the dildo? Brad Pitt?" I teased.

"IF you must know, the first night it was Stephen, the next night it was John St. Ives, and the third night it was Sean. The fourth night it was you, my love. I saved the best for last. I guess you could say I cheated on you mentally, just not physically. Happy, now?" she angrily replied.

"Not quite. Who was the best of the four of us, only in your imagination, of course?"

"Stephen. He's always been the best. Doug, you should not be asking me these types of questions!"

I had to agree with her. I had just learned that I was not the best of the collection of her imaginary lovers. It did not sit well with me. However, I foolishly went down the rabbit hole.

"How is Stephen better than me?" I asked.

Fran sighed in exasperation. "Well, for one thing, he eats me out before we fuck, and also afterwards."

"You imagine him eating you out?"

"Also, he squirts an enormous load inside me. It's such a rush!" she said. "He plays with my clit while he fucks me, too. Plus, he fucks me standing up, with my legs wrapped around him," she concluded. "You never do any of those things."

"He must have a strong back, in your imagination."

"Yes, but Sean had his hands on my ass, helping to hold me up as I went up and down on Stephen's glorious cock."

"All this was in your imagination?"

"Oh!" Fran must have realized she was remembering what happened, not what she had allegedly 'imagined.'

"Doug, I have a confession. Please be kind!"

I wasn't kind. I did get one last spectacular fuck out of her before I moved out.