Biter Bit

You may have been wondering why I haven't written anything much lately, though in truth, I doubt whether many have even noticed.

There's a reason!

I've read about it and written about it but never at my age ever expected to find myself in a similar position to the poor chaps that I feature in so many of my stories. Yes, my wife has ... There's someone else.

The biter bit, or perhaps the writer hit indeed!

His name is Joss, and no despite the name he is quite white as white could be though there are some strong hints of black about him. As you may imagine then, his full head of ginger hair makes him quite striking. Younger than us by quite a bit of course, but aren't they always?

Yes this is a genuine true story and not one of those unlikely or outrageous scenarios that you find on this site.

How appropriate that most of my stories have been posted under Loving Wives. This could possibly be one of the most difficult tales that I have ever written, but I have to unburden myself, and it's easier to do so with the relative invisibility that this site allows.

It started just a few short months ago, and it was all my doing. Joss, when I first met him seemed such a nice young chap, full of life and as far as I could see not a bad bone in his body. He still lived with his mum and extended family, but had pretty obviously reached the age when he had to branch out. We have a big house with plenty of spare room, and I even surprised myself when I found myself making the offer for him to move in with us. What came over me I have no idea, and I can't even blame it on having a pint too many that evening, as we'd been drinking red wine.

Didn't think it through maybe, but that's what I did, and the next thing I knew he was coming home with me. Of course I should have checked with my wife before making such an offer, and of course when she came home an hour or so after us, then she was furious.

"How could you?" She demanded angrily, and what could I say?

"I suppose he'll have to stay for the night now," she snapped, and I shrugged my shoulders in resignation, realising what an idiot I'd been, but never imagining quite how much it, he, would change my life, or indeed how quickly.

My wife made a bed up for him in the spare room, and at the time I never thought twice about the time she took to get him settled in. Never thought twice at the time about how quickly her attitude towards our new lodger changed. Never thought twice about how readily she agreed the following morning that now he was here, that he might as well stay.

End of story?

Not at all!

It didn't take long before Joss was joining us every evening, and me having my own special armchair, didn't seem so odd that he'd end up on the sofa alongside my wife. I turned a blind eye to how close they seemed to end up as the evenings drew on, though I confess I began to suffer the first early pangs of jealousy.

"Perhaps this Joss thing isn't such a good idea," I eventually ventured about a week later, but my plea was met with a very firm rebuttal, making my wife's position quite clear, and by the second week it was evident that my wife and Joss's relationship was rapidly going beyond a casual friendship.

My jealousy flared, and it all came to a head before the third week was over, when I accused her of allowing her relationship to have gone too far.

"I guess you know then," she stated bluntly, hardly a trace of guilt in her voice.

"Of course I do," I pretended with a growl, my mind reeling at what perhaps she was about to reveal.

"I'm sorry honey, it just happened," she sighed. "When you go to work in the morning, Joss slips into our bedroom."

Shit!

Bad enough but it was about to get worse.

"Now you know," she continued. "You might as well know that I'm moving Joss into our bedroom. No need for you to worry though honey. It won't make any difference to us."

"Like hell it won't," snapping at last, my jealousy rampant, as I stormed out of the room, calling for Joss to follow me out to the garden where we could sort this matter out between us. Joss followed me, hanging his head, aware that things were about to change, and stood there facing me with a worried look on his face waiting for the axe to fall.

Right!

No nonsense!

"Sit!" I barked at him, and he did.

"Give me your paw," I followed up with, and lifting his head he offered me his left paw.

"There's a good boy Joss," I encouraged him, giving him the treat that he'd been expecting, and chucking him behind the ears like he loved us to do.

"No need to be jealous honey," my wife commented from the door where she'd been watching us. "He's your dog really. You know how he waits at the door for you to come home every night."

She was right of course!

Fancy me being jealous of my wife getting too friendly with my, sorry, our dog?

Silly me!

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Just so you know, Joss is at the time of writing a four month old Fox Terrier, who has stolen our hearts, and changed our lives completely. If only he'd stop peeing on the terrace and go do it on the grass!