A Simple Man

Warning, this is a BTB story. It isn't a complete going nuclear, but she does get burned pretty bad.

Now, without further ado.

A simple man:

I'm really a pretty simple man. Not as in simple minded, but as in it doesn't really take much to make me happy. I don't need a huge house, or a new car every two years. I just need a place to call home, good food, a little alcohol occasionally, and every now and then, a woman to be with. Preferably, a woman to share my life with. Again, I just want to be comfortable and relax with my significant other. My perfect day would be spending a couple hours fishing, working on an older muscle car or pickup, firing up the bar-be-que in the evening while enjoying a beer or two, eating a nice dinner, then spending a quiet evening with a glass of bourbon while cuddling up with my wife and a good book. Simple. Very low maintenance.

I'm going to admit right here, I am no movie star, athlete, or model. I'm actually rather average. I'm 5'10" tall, brown hair, brown eyes, and in fairly decent shape. Right now, I'm 51-years old. I'm not overly well endowed. My dick is just over 6-inches long, and about average in girth. I admit, age has caught up with me. While I don't need a pill to get it up, it usually takes a while to get ready for the second round. On the up side, I have learned to use my tongue and fingers effectively to get a woman off a few times before the main event. My current girlfriend doesn't seem to mind though. Isabella is 45-years old, and she is still rather attractive. Her long, lustrous, shiny black hair hangs down to the middle of her back. Yes, she is Hispanic. That's pretty common for one native to Costa Rica. She stands at 5'4", with a nice set of C cups, narrow waist and flared hips. We've been together for just over 5-years now. I hooked up with her about a year after I moved here, and we've been together ever since.

A typical day for me starts at 5:00 AM. I get up, shower and get dressed, have some coffee, eat breakfast, and head to my boat. I ALWAYS make sure to give Isabella a kiss before I leave. Most days, I spend most of the morning out fishing, then come back and sell most of what I catch to the local shops off the dock. I occasionally have a charter for the tourists to help supplement my income. I really don't need the supplement though. I have enough stashed away to live pretty much the rest of my life. As I stated above, I really don't need a lot of money to have a nice life -- especially here. Once I've sold off what I've caught, I head back to the house, where Isabella has lunch made. After lunch, I clean any fish that I've brought home and head into the garage to tinker with my latest toy. Right now, it's a 1967 GMC Pickup that I'm building up. After a couple of hours, I'll get a glass of bourbon or a bottle of beer and relax out on the porch. Later, I'll fire up the BBQ and cook the steaks, fish, or chicken that we will have for dinner. Isabella will usually join me with a glass of wine while we discuss our days as I'm grilling the food. After dinner, we both clean up and cuddle up on the couch as we read our books and converse about whatever subject comes up. Bed time typically, though not always, finds us making sweet love before falling asleep in each other's arms. Even those nights where we don't engage in sex, we still cuddle as we sleep. We are both very happy and content.

It really is an idyllic life. We do occasionally visit the local bar for dinner, drinks, and a bit of dancing We do occasionally have friends over for an evening, so we are not hermits. It is a rather small town on the coast, and I am well known and liked. I could picture myself living out the rest of my life here -- until I saw her in the bar that evening.

Isabella and I were spending a nice evening in the local bar with a couple of friends when she walked in with a group of five others. They were evenly split between boys and girls, college age. They were probably here on Spring Break from school. There was absolutely no way that I could miss her. 5'6" tall, long wavy red hair. Emerald green eyes, athletic figure with a wonderful set of D cup breasts, and topped off with an angelic face. She was the splitting image of my wife at her age, and she had obviously grown up since I last saw her six years ago.

Perhaps that just answered your question as to why Isabella and I never got married, even though we've been together for five years. The reason is that I was already married. Yes, Isabella knew that and accepted it. No, my wife had no clue about Isabella. In fact, she had no idea where the hell I was, and I was doing my damnedest to make sure that she never found out. I would be in serious trouble if she ever found me. I figured that I was now in deep shit with my youngest daughter standing in the same bar that I was in.

"We have to get the fuck out of here, and fast!" I whispered to Bella.

"Why? What's wrong?" She asked.

"You see that beautiful redhead that just walked in?" She nodded. "Now you know exactly what my wife looked like when she was in her early twenties."

"Shit." She replied.

Thankfully, we were sitting kind of near the door. When I saw the group move to the bar, Bella and I quietly made our way to the door. We had made up some bullshit excuse to our friends for leaving, but they also knew it was bullshit and knew that I would need to tell them what was going on later. I saw the bartender pointing towards the table that we had just vacated as the door was closing behind us. Fuck!

OK, so you are probably wondering what the hell is going on. Actually, you've probably already figured out the general idea, but now you need the pieces filled in. The truth of the matter is that I'm hiding out from my cheating psychobitchfromhell wife. She cheated on me, then was planning on raping me in the divorce unless I just went along with it. I decided that I wasn't going to let that happen.

I used to be known as Damon Lewis. That was my given name when I was born. It's still my legal name, but not what I use any more -- for obvious reasons. I grew up in a small town in California. I was the middle child with an older brother and younger sister. Out of all of us, I was the only one to go to college. My parents were killed in an auto accident in my Junior year of college, and my brother died in a construction accident about a year later. My sister and I really never got along, so after the parents and brother died, we pretty much just drifted apart. We never even exchange birthday or Christmas greetings anymore.

I graduated with a degree in Civil Engineering and moved across the country for a job. I had been working for a large engineering firm for a couple of years when I met Patricia. Pat was a friend of a friend when we met at a party one Saturday afternoon. She had graduated college with a degree in History. Currently, she was working as a barista at a local coffee place. After spending about half an hour talking to her, it became obvious to me that her time at college was for two reasons. First, it was a way to keep from adulting for a few more years, and second, she was actually going for her Mrs. Degree. (For those of you unfamiliar with that terminology, an Mrs. Degree is when a girl goes to college in one of those easy majors so she can land a husband that will take care of her). Yeah, I know. Red flags should have been popping up. Unfortunately for me, she was incredibly beautiful, charming, witty, and seemed rather intelligent.

We seemed to get along well, so I asked her out on a date. She accepted. I took her to a nice restaurant, then a show. We had a good time, so I asked her out again. She accepted. After a couple more dates, we decided to be exclusive. She spent the night with me after the fifth date. She was just as gorgeous naked as I had imagined. She also loved the fact that I rather enjoyed licking her to a couple of orgasms. I really don't know how many times she orgasmed, even though I made sure that she was well taken care of, but she managed to pull three out of me before we passed out, and two more before we got up the next morning. Three months later, I proposed. A year later, we were married.

We settled into married life well. She quit her job to be a full-time mom when she found out that she was pregnant six months after the wedding. James Damon Lewis was born and was the light of our lives. Less than two years later, Michael John Lewis was born. After another two years, Sherri Patricia Lewis came into our lives. All three were beautiful, healthy babies. It didn't take long for me to be completely wrapped around Sherri's little finger. She was a daddy's girl all the way. We had decided that three was enough, so Patricia had her tubes tied afterwards.

Life was great. Patricia stayed home to raise the kids as I was working to provide for the family. I was making a pretty good income, so the kids and my wife never lacked for anything. I was promoted to Senior Engineer at 30-years old. A year later, we bought our house in the suburbs. We both drove nice cars, and I had a 1972 GTO to play with in the garage. Patricia and I still made time for each other. We maintained a monthly date night, where we would get a sitter so we could go out to dinner and a show, or some other event. We still managed to have (what I thought was) a fulfilling sex life. Sure, over time, it kind of got a little stale, but we both worked hard at it to make it right. We always had sex a minimum of three nights a week. I was also home every night. I wasn't one of those guys that traveled for work.

As the kids grew up, Patricia began to get involved in the kid's extracurricular activities. She became a soccer mom, a football mom, and -- of course -- a dance mom. I never saw the slightest hint of unhappiness from her. I attended every single performance, game, and event that I could. I don't think that I missed more than 5-percent of the kid's activities.

April 7^th. I had turned 45-years old a few months before. The kids were in school, and it was lunch time. I had just left a construction site that I was visiting near home, and decided to stop there for lunch. I was following another car down my street about half a block in front of me when I saw it turn into my driveway. As I got closer, I saw the person that got out. I couldn't believe it. Danny Johnson was my best friend. He knew that I wouldn't be home, so what was he doing here? Something wasn't right. I decided to just drive past and park a bit down the street. I got to a spot where I was a way off, but could still see my front door. I watched as the son-of-a-bitch got to the door, pulled out a key, and let himself in. WTF???

I called the office and told them that I was tied up on the project and would be late getting back. I got out of the car and walked back to the house and went around to the back yard. I knew that there was a small gap at the bottom of the blinds to our bedroom and that the blinds on the patio door were usually left open. Sneaking around the back of the yard, I was able to hide behind some bushes, so I could see through the French doors. There was my wife in a very short robe kissing my former best friend passionately. Yep, I already had my cell phone out and was videoing it. When they moved towards the hallway, I also moved so I could peak through the bedroom window. I caught it all with my phone. She dropped the robe as soon as she walked through the door. I had to stop recording after she had pulled his pants down and slurped his cock into her mouth. I left soon after. I just couldn't take watching any more.

I was numb when I got back to the office. I really had no idea that she would cheat on me. I needed more information. After a couple of hours, my engineering brain kicked in. I had a problem. Engineers solve problems. That's what we do. I could figure this out. I just needed a bit more time, so I called Patricia and told her that I would be a couple of hours late getting home. This really wasn't that out of the ordinary for me though. While it didn't happen often, there were times when I needed to stay a bit late, so she had no reason to be suspicious.

I went online and found what I needed. Several small Wi-Fi security cameras. Those little bastards aren't cheap, but I'm the one that handles the finances, so she would never see the bill until it was too late. I had them shipped to my office. I couldn't take the chance of her seeing them when they were delivered to the house. I then went to our finances and began making a few moves with our savings and retirement accounts. It was just some small stuff. The rest would wait. The last thing I did was to begin researching divorce laws. It wasn't pretty, so I needed to investigate further.

Now, for the hard part. I needed to act as natural as possible for the next week or so. I couldn't allow her to get an inkling that I knew what she was doing. I somehow managed to get away with it. I told her that I thought that I might be catching that cold that seemed to be going around. I wasn't sick enough to stay home, but it was best if I avoided close contact. No sex that night, and we slept on our own sides of the bed.

I got the cameras and software on Friday a couple of days later. I packed them in my briefcase before I went home. Still had the 'cold' but was getting better. Best to keep distance still. The next morning, Patricia went shopping. I took that opportunity to hide a couple of cameras in the bedroom. I also managed to hide a couple more in the livingroom and kitchen while the kids were out. I hid the recording unit in the attic. Patricia never went up there, so it was safe.

I have to admit that we did have sex that night. She's still a really hot woman, and the sex has always been pretty good. I hung out with the kids on Sunday, just doing dad stuff. I bar-be-queued steaks for dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed. I was a wreck at work on Monday. My mind kept wondering what I would see on the cameras later. I couldn't concentrate on my work. The day ended, and I finally went home. Patricia did notice something wrong, but I told her that there was a personnel issue at work that I was dealing with. I fixed myself a bourbon on the rocks and went upstairs to shower and change. Patricia was busy in the kitchen, so I was able to sneak upstairs and download the video onto a flash drive.

After dinner, I told Patricia that I needed to go into my home office to check on our finances and investments. After closing the door and firing up the laptop, I put in the flash drive and began reviewing the videos. It didn't take too long to fast forward to the point where Danny walked in. There was footage of their make-out session in the livingroom again, Another blow-job in the bedroom. Him fucking her on the bed. Missionary, cowgirl, doggie style in her ass, and several other positions. They went into the bathroom together, then came out an hour later freshly showered. Then they dressed, another passionate kiss by the door, and he left. I would need to review this in more detail tomorrow at work.

Patricia noticed that I was still moody when we were going to bed. I explained again that it was a personnel issue at work and couldn't discuss it, but I would probably end up having to fire someone that I liked. She understood, and she knew how much I hated firing anyone.

The next morning, I got an even bigger shock. That's when I was listening to the audio part of the recordings.

"So, when are you going to dump Damon's sorry ass and run away with me?" Danny asked.

"I can't for a while yet." She responded. "I want to wait until the kids graduate high school. It would be too much of a distraction for them before that. Besides, he makes really good money, and I want to get a pretty good nest egg built up before I take him to the cleaners."

"You hate him that much"

"No. I like him OK, and he's providing for me pretty well, but I never really loved him. I always just saw him as a good meal ticket. He's also a decent lay, and he always gets me off a few times, not like you of course, but I've never really seen him as more than a friend with benefits kind of thing. The thing is, that once I divorce him, I'll need as much of his assets as I can get to live like I want to. It isn't that I really want to screw him over, it's just that I want to make sure that I live comfortably the rest of my life without needing to get a job."

"Why not just get another husband that you are more compatible with?" He asked.

"What? Like you? Are you planning to divorce your little wife? Besides, she would take you to the cleaners as well, and you don't make enough to support me like I want to be supported. I would still have to get some crumby job to help make ends meet, just like Donna is doing right now."

"Suppose he finds out about us? He'd probably kick you out into the street."

"He might try, but then I would just give him the facts. If he did that, I would rape him in the divorce. I've never worked since about six months into our marriage. That means that I will be due a couple of thousand dollars a month in support, plus all the child support, plus their educations and health care, on top of as much of our savings and retirement as I could get, and I get the house and full custody of the kids. After hearing all of that, he will have no choice but to sit back and take it. Then, if he complains about it, I'll just turn off the pussy to him. Believe me, if he wants to try and start shit, I'll ruin him."

OK. I've heard enough. Time to cut bait. The rest of the day, I spent researching divorce laws in this state. It was rather bleak. I walked over to our legal office and discussed it with one of my friends who is a lawyer. We talked for about an hour. Even though that wasn't his specialty, it was plain enough that I would have to, at a minimum, pay child support, give her the house, half the savings, half the retirement, as well as a rather large monthly alimony payment to support her, since she has never had a paying job during our marriage. Nope, the state doesn't care that she is a cheating whore. Also, if she got a real shark for a lawyer, it could even be a lot worse. Fuck! I was screwed. There was only one thing I could do, and it would hurt like hell.

It took another two months to get everything set up. It was expensive, but a lot cheaper than the alternative. I managed to get fake documents that were professionally done through some old friends from high school that went a different path. I gave my notice at work and cashed out my retirement. I also refinanced the house for the entire appraised amount and put that money in one of the offshore accounts. Yeah, that was going to ruin my credit for the next seven years, but fuck it. Going online, I created a couple of offshore bank accounts in different names in Belize and the Cayman Islands. I gradually moved money from our investments and savings over to my offshore accounts, making sure that the numbers were random amounts -- and well below the reporting level. Only a couple of things left to do. For those two months, I began going to ATMs every couple of days and withdrawing a couple hundred dollars in cash. I would then go to another bank and deposit the cash into another account in just my name, then electronically transfer it to one of my off-shore accounts. This successfully depleted all of our accounts to just a couple thousand dollars. I ended up selling my GTO for $20,000, and the cash went straight into the off-shore accounts.

Patricia left for her gym session early in the morning. She did that about three times a week. I had told her that I was taking a comp day off to make up for some extra time that I had been putting in. I was just going to sit around and relax, since things at work had been rather stressful. As soon as she left, I went into the office and got on my laptop. All of the videos and other info that I had collected had already been placed on four thumb drives, then linked into the cloud. I had already set up the mass email with the link and access information. Before I sent the email, I completed the final transfer from all of our checking, savings, and investment accounts to the new offshore accounts I had set up. I then closed all the accounts and changed the mailing address to a PO box that I got a friend to check and destroy all mail for the next two months. I left the checking account address the same. She knew about that, and a query to the bank would probably give her the new address, and I couldn't have her camping out there and watching what was happening. Besides, all the checking statement would show was one last transfer to a dummy account of less than $1,000. Worst case, It's petty theft. Once that was done, I sent the email to all of our friends and her family. Then, I reformatted the computer and put in another flash drive with a really nasty virus that would completely destroy it. All the statements and paperwork for all of our accounts was taken out to the grill and burned, leaving no paper trail to show where the accounts had been. Kind of hard to find an account that you don't even know about, or where it might have been. By the time that anyone could figure out what happened, I would have already transferred the money a couple more times and erased any way to trace it.