A Perfect Marriage

I know it sounds cliché, but I believe that my wife Joan and I have the perfect marriage. We will have been married for twenty years next month. We're every bit as in love today as we were when we first met. We hear stories about other couples who have problems and end up in divorce, but neither of us can imagine that ever happening to us.

From the beginning, we've had a great relationship based on respect and the ability to communicate about anything. We keep no secrets and talk about everything together. We're best friends and lovers. We value spending time together and being a couple, not two solo partners.

If something is bothering either one of us, we can tell the other and get support. We don't have to keep feelings buried. If I do something that bothers her, she tells me and vice versa. Likewise, we're quick to compliment each other, but more than that, if we want something, we say what it is. We don't play games.

We're that way about sex too. We do everything together. She doesn't deny me anything, nor do I deny her. She's not a huge fan of anal, but she'd do it if I wanted to. I don't like it any more than she does, so it's not a regular thing.

My cock is not abnormally huge, but I pack at least eight inches of thick dick. Joan loves it. It's the perfect size for her pussy. I hit her g-spot and cervix, and she has massive orgasms. Our sex sessions are long, and we both take time to get the other off multiple times. Even after all these years, we do it three to four times a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.

We're spontaneous. It's not uncommon for us to have sex at the drop of a hat at any time. We make it fun and exciting. We experiment with toys, lotions, lubes, outfits, leather, and more. Our sex is always rewarding and is never dull.

As far as finances go, we both work and get paid well. Our combined household income is over a quarter of a million a year. We each put three-quarters of our paychecks into our joint bank account. The other quarter goes into our own private accounts. We are free to use our money from our personal accounts anyway we want. Joan never has to justify her expenditures, nor do I have to explain mine to her. We mutually discuss and agree on any major expenses that use our joint funs.

We both get five weeks of paid time off each year. We usually spend two weeks of vacation together in the summer and go on a long trip. We also take a week in the winter for a ski-trip, usually to Colorado, and a week in autumn for fall break. That leaves us both one week, which we always take separately, but at the same time, during the spring. We jokingly call this week our sabbatical. Joan usually goes to visit her family or makes a joint trip with one or more of her girlfriends. I usually go on some outdoor adventures with my male friends.

Even though we are not together that week, we touch base daily and keep no secrets. We take time off at the same time so that we're not missing out on more than one week together. It always works out well, and the time apart ends with us spending several days making up for the lost time in bed.

Neither of us takes our jobs too seriously. They're jobs; they're not our lives. That means we don't and never have worked much over time. We also have strict rules about not bringing our work home. Work stops at five daily, and by six, we are both home and looking forward to an evening together.

We prefer to spend our time together, either at home or going out as a couple, rather than going out with friends or doing things that take us away from each other. When our kids were younger, they took up a great deal of our time, but as they're practically grown, we've found we still enjoy each other's company more than anything else. Speaking of kids, we have two, Adam is nineteen and finishing his second year at the University of Texas in Austin. Ebby is 17 and is a senior in high school. She's won a full ride to UC San Diego.

We will miss our kids once Ebby is out of the house, but we're looking forward to resuming life as a couple. We've joked about becoming nudists while at home and having sex in every room of the house to celebrate our regained freedom.

Like a lot of men my age, I enjoy golfing. Joan prefers tennis. Our income has afforded us memberships at the best courses and country clubs around. The funny thing is that we enjoy each other's company so much that I'm her tennis partner and she is mine for golf. It isn't because we are possessive or jealous. It really is that we're each other's best friend and if we're going to do something, we want to share it with each other.

We go to movies once a week. Joan picks the movie one week, and I get to choose the next. We have a date night, every week, on either Friday or Saturday, depending on what else we have going on. We are foodies, so we always pick a new, hot, or highly-rated restaurant. I'm into craft brews and cocktails, so we follow that up with a trip to a great bar. We end date night with a trip to one of the nearby nightclubs for dancing.

I sucked severely at dancing for a long time. Joan was great about it. She only wanted to dance with me, even though I was not up to her skill level. She is a beautiful, sexy woman, and many men ask her to dance whenever we go out. She always turns them down. I felt terrible and would encourage her to dance with other men, but she made it clear.

"I didn't come here to dance," she told me once. "I came here to dance with you."

So, that convinced me to take lessons. We went together and enjoyed it so much we kept going back. We are now quite proficient in several styles of dancing, from ballroom to salsa and Texas two-step. Now, when we have date night, I'm proud to spend the night dancing with my beautiful bride.

I'm not into sports as much as most of my male friends. I only really watch the NFL regularly. Otherwise, I only watch when one of our teams is in the playoffs, or it is the Super Bowl, NBA finals, World Series, or Indy500. Joan is as big a fan like me, so she's with me to help cheer our teams on or to commiserate with me when they lose.

Whenever Joan wants to try a new hobby, like crochet, knitting, toll painting, pottery, or painting, guess who she drags with her to class. You got it: me! The irony is that I have as much fun doing it as she does. She's way better at crocheting and knitting while I am kickass with pottery and painting.

We walk the dog together. We go grocery shopping together. We do yard work together. We even go to get mani-pedi's together! We do everything together.

I take that back. The only thing that we don't do together is getting our hair done. I will usually get my hair cut at Floyd's Barber Shop near my office during my lunch break once a month. For as long as I can remember, Joan has had every other Wednesday off, which she uses as a spa day, to be pampered, massaged, and get her hair done.

We have a big house on a lake, with a pool, a boat, and a recreational vehicle for luxury camping. We travel frequently. We're active and involved in many things. Things literally couldn't be any better.

I married well.

Never have I ever harbored any doubts that Joan loves me and only me. Not once has she done or said anything to make me question her loyalty and devotion. Likewise, I've never thought of straying. I'm happy with what I have. Plus, Joan makes sure we have great sex frequently, which ensures I have no interest in anyone else.

One day, I was feeling under the weather and came home from work in the middle of the afternoon. No, I didn't find Joan in bed with someone. I found something, but it didn't set off any alarm bells at first. It just seemed odd.

Among the mail, was one of those advertising inserts that get stuffed in your box. Usually, I just ignore them and toss them in the trash, but this one caught my eye. It said in big, bold letters, "WE MISS YOU." I looked more closely and noticed it was from Golden Sun Day Spa, the same spa that Joan has been a member of for years, the one she goes to every other Wednesday.

According to the flier, she was a "former" client, and they were offering her a steep discount to come back. Included was an account number and telephone number to call to speak to a sales agent. Thinking there must be some mix-up, and knowing that tomorrow was her Wednesday off, I decided to resolve the problem for her.

I called the number and spoke to a polite salesperson named Gwenn, who informed me that the account was one of their older, inactive accounts. When I asked her what that meant, she said that Joan had canceled the account over five years ago. She was kind to offered to reactivate the membership "at no charge" and take 25% off the first six months of membership if I would sign a two-year contract.

I was confused. Joan went to the spa every other Wednesday. Why would she cancel the membership? Maybe it was cheaper just to pay the non-member rates for her two monthly visits instead of the monthly fees. When I asked about this, Gwenn assured me that they are an exclusive, high-end establishment that only caters to full-time members and their guests.

"I'm sorry, Gwenn," I said, trying not to sound condescending, "but there must be some kind of record-keeping error. My wife has been going to your spa religiously, every other Wednesday for over ten years."

I could hear Gwenn tapping on her keyboard as we spoke. "That is very unlikely. We have a very sophisticated membership system. We have used it since we first opened. Members can go back and see everything they've done. According to our system, your wife joined back in 2008, does that sound right?"

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, that sounds about right. We had just moved to Frisco. So, doesn't it show her attendance there every other Wednesday?"

"Let me see," Gwenn replied as she tapped more keys. "Sir, are you sure she has been going to this spa? Our records show that she came here about twenty times, most of the time with a guest, sporadically over the first three years, and hasn't been back since 2010. She hadn't been here at all for almost two years when she canceled the membership."

That didn't make any sense to me. I sat there thinking of all the possible explanations. Maybe Joan had switched spas and never thought it important enough to tell me. It was a relatively trivial thing, after all.

"Sir?" asked Gwenn, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Uh, yeah," I said as something she said sparked a wild thought. "You said most of the time she came with a guest. You wouldn't happen to have a record of who they were, would you?"

"We should," Gwenn explained. "Guests have to show ID and register with us for safety reasons. Let me see."

A few more clicks and then, "Oh, wow."

"What did you find?" I asked.

"Sir, I probably shouldn't say anything," Gwenn replied, hesitating. "I don't want to get in trouble."

"It's fine, Gwenn," I reassured her. "What did you find?"

"Uh, well," she hesitated. "It seems that she came by herself the first two times she used her membership. After that, she had a guest with her every time she came, actually the same guest, a male guest."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "Will you give me his name?"

"Sir, I think that's for your wife to tell you," Gwenn said. She sounded distraught.

"Gwenn, please, I swear nobody will know where I got the information," I pleaded. "I need to know."

Gwenn sighed, then said, "His name is Connor Wilkins."

"Oh," I said. Connor Wilkins. "thank you, Gwenn." Connor Wilkins was the owner of the firm where Joan worked and her immediate boss.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Gwenn asked nervously.

Connor Wilkins and his wife Tiffany were among our best friends. They lived just around the corner from us, and we had been out together or to each other's homes more times than I could count. Our boys played lacrosse together. Our girls were best friends.

"No, that's all, thanks," I said and hung up.

Never, ever had I seen anything that would have indicated anything could have been going on between Gwenn and Connor. When we hung out, they never seemed to disappear together. They never seemed overtly affectionate or inappropriately flirty. It was always Connor with Tiffany and Joan with me, or the girls would be together, and Connor and I would hang out at the grill or smoking a cigar. I could never remember times where they did anything more than speak to each other.

Was it possible that they had been having an affair all this time? Weren't there supposed to be tell-tale signs of infidelity? I went down the list in my mind:

Staying out late or not coming home like normal: No. As I explained, we were always together.

Becoming more concerned with her physical appearance: No, she'd always been that way.

Changes in wardrobe, more sexy and revealing: No, she always dressed fashionably, elegantly hot but not slutty.

Changes in sexual behavior: No, she was just as sexual as she'd always been.

Change in the frequency of sex: No, we had sex in some manner, at least four days a week, every week. Even during Joan's period, we would find some way to be sexy, like sucking me off or doing anal.

Becoming emotionally distant: Not at all. We were just as loving, just as open and communicative as always.

Hiding things, locking phones, and emails: No. I knew Joan's passwords, and she knew mine. She often had me open her emails and texts to read and reply to them.

But, then again, if what Gwenn said was right and they had been having an affair, it had been going on at least ten years. How would I know what normal behavior was?

I racked my brain, trying to think back at least ten years to anything that could have possibly indicated when an affair might have begun. Then it hit me. Almost eleven years ago, Joan had a miscarriage. It happened in the second trimester and devastated Joan. She had to get counseling, which, in time, helped her to get back to normal. In the aftermath, Joan decided she wanted to get her tubes tied to avoid the chance of it ever happening again. We had two great kids, and that was enough for both of us.

Could that have been when it started, I mean, if she was having an affair?

What if they were in love?

What if they were just waiting until our kids all move out to divorce Tiffany and I?

Was my perfect marriage just a sham, a facade, an illusion?

I thought about my relationship. I loved my wife unconditionally, and I was absolutely confident she loved me the same way. You could see it in her eyes when she looked at me. I've had people comment on it so many times.

At dinner just last month, the server came to me when Joan had gone to the powder room and said, "Your wife loves you so much. You can see it when she looks at you. Her whole face lights up. I hope to find a man that makes me want to look at him like that, someday."

I told Joan about the comment when she came back, and she kissed me and told me she loved me more than anything or anyone. At the time, I didn't think there was anyone else involved.

Were we unhappy? I know I wasn't. I was blissfully happy. Nothing was missing in my life nor in my relationship with Joan. She gave me everything and more, and I reciprocated.

Was she unhappy? I couldn't believe so. She told me all the time how happy and lucky she was to have me in her life. Maybe she was lucky because I was so clueless I didn't catch on to her having an affair. Maybe she was happy because she got to have the family she wanted and all the slutty sex she needed on the side.

My thoughts were going to darker and darker places the longer I sat contemplated things. I had to force myself to stop going there. I didn't know for sure Joan was having an affair. I had no proof. All I knew was that several years ago, she went to the spa with Connor, frequently, and never told me.

I thought we didn't have or keep secrets. This certainly seemed like a secret. The other thing I knew was that Joan stopped going to the spa, but never told me. Another secret. For the past several years, she continued to tell me about her bi-monthly spa days. So, either she changed to a different spa and didn't tell me, or she's been lying.

I wondered about what else she was hiding. If I was a gullible fool about this one thing, what else could there be? By and large, the only other times when we were not together were when she was working - which placed her firmly within reach of Connor - and her yearly personal vacation.

Was it possible that Joan had been lying to me about where she went and what she did for the week she was gone every year? Was I that clueless?

I had to know but had no way that I could think of to find out. Then an idea hit me. Thinking it might work, I grabbed my phone, hoping I had Tiffany's number. I scrolled through my contacts, and there she was. I knew she worked from home, so the likelihood of Connor being with her was pretty close to nil.

I called her number, and she answered right away.

She was surprised it was me calling, as I've never done so before.

"Is something wrong, Troy?" she asked. If she only knew.

"No, not at all," I lied. "I was just thinking, you know Joan and I are going to be celebrating our twentieth anniversary this year."

"Yeah, that's right!" she said. "Congratulations. Oh, are you planning a surprise party?"

"Sort of," I replied. "I was thinking of something fun. I thought it would be cool if the four of us went someplace to celebrate together. You know, like to our cabin in Colorado, for a few days."

"That sounds great," she replied. "Connor and I love the mountains. When were you thinking about doing it, and for how long?"

I checked my calendar to make sure I had the dates for our annual sabbatical correct and gave them to Tiffany.

"Uh," Tiffany said. She seemed to be hesitating to reply as if she were trying to think what to say. Finally, she said, "Well, that would work for me, but unfortunately, Connor has his annual hunting trip that week. He does it each fall."

Now warning bells were going off and going off loudly.

"Every year?" I asked.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "For at least the last eight or nine years, anyway. Connor's very picky about the dates, and I can never schedule anything for us during that time."

"Is that right?" I asked.

"Well, you should know the dates, Troy. Joan has that same week off every year, too. The company shuts down for the whole week, and every employee gets an extra week of paid leave. Connor calls it the annual sabbatical."

I was stunned and couldn't speak for a while.

"You there, Troy?" Tiffany asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Well, ok, then I guess that won't work." I wanted to get off the phone.

"Are you ok? You don't sound so good," Tiffany asked. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Me? I'm fine. Look, I'll see if another time would work for us and get back to you," I said, lying my ass off. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure," she replied, "what do you need?"

"I want this to be a surprise for Joan," I explained. "Could you keep this between us for now?"

"Yeah, no problem." As I was about to hang up, Tiffany spoke up. "Troy?"

"Yeah?"

"If you change your mind about wanting to talk, call me back, ok? I can tell something is eating at you, and if you feel you need to work things through, talking could help."

"Thanks, Tiffany," I said. "I'll do that."

With that, I ended the call and sat, staring into space as my entire world, all my dreams, and aspirations, and everything I thought to be real came crashing down around me. If what I suspected were true, and it sure looked that way, I couldn't see any way to salvage my marriage.

I didn't want to continue living a lie, to be the gullible, clueless cuckold. It was unforgivable to me that my wife had done this behind my back for all these years, and I never had any idea. I thought she loved me. I couldn't stand the thought of Joan and Connor having this secret that they've hidden from Tiffany and me all this time. So many times we'd gotten together, and in each case, they'd already been fuck buddies. I was a colossal fool. How had I not realized it sooner?