Can You Cheat in an Open Marrriage?

"I can't say I think about that too much. You know, this is a big town, and I don't think many of the guys I hang out with have ever even gone to Rye Balled or, if they do, they sure don't know the 'Merry Widow' is my wife. I even heard a couple of guys at the gym talking about how the Merry Widow was one of their favorites, and I'm sure they didn't know her husband was in the next shower stall down." Greg confided, with a hint of a prideful grin.

"Of course, guys talk about 'Flaming Red' a whole lot more often. I swear there is a big fan club that just worships your wife but most of them apparently can't afford a room with her. For sure they can't afford the VIP rooms that I hear your Heide frequents now."

I just smiled, trying my best to not puke right over his kitchen table. And yes, I did dimly realize that once I get over the revelation that Heide was a whore, I might take some little pride in being married to possibly the highest priced whore in town. After all, nobody would want his wife to be a "cheap whore."

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At that point I was washed up and began to make my excuses. Greg seemed not to want me to leave but we made a pact to keep in touch and try to battle our demons together. We also agreed, with a wink, that our spouses had no need to know about our collaboration. I had no idea if I would ever really want to meet up with him again. We shook hands and I headed for the nearest, dingiest bar, where I quietly drank myself into a coma thinking about Greg Daley, the cuckold wimp.

The local police drove me home, I assume having gotten my address from my billfold. They rang the bell, must have been after 1am club closing time, and Heide came to the door in her flannel jammies to let us in. I learned days later that this was a service our police often rendered in such cases, probably mostly to keep the local bar owner from getting in trouble for serving someone way too much alcohol.

When I woke, it was nearing noon. My first thought, after pissing, was that last night had been the first time in years that my wife got home to bed before I did. Then, she must have heard my flush as she was in the bedroom door in a bustle and holding my ravaged face in her hands. She really did act like a concerned wife, hugging me and caressing my disheveled head. She didn't kiss me, but I understood that my breath must have reeked, and I did not look in the least sexy.

She also didn't quiz me about my unprecedented condition, but I knew I would soon have to have an explanation. As soon as I figured out what it was going to be.

She hung near me most of the rest of Tuesday, but we didn't talk much. I just mumbled my apologies to my wife for my disgraceful behavior and mumbled something suggesting that I must have been slipped a mickey, whatever a mickey is. I knew that wouldn't stand scrutiny for long, but it passed for now in my fragile condition.

Who knows, when the moment for confession comes, I might just feel up to telling the whole truth about how a man feels when he learns his sweet and proper wife was the town's leading working girl. Maybe she had some sixth sense about why I had gone off the rails, as she avoided any interrogatories for the rest of the day. She was always available for any help I might need, but never trying to engage in any serious conversation.

Shortly after she made me a simple but satisfying dinner. We each read for a couple of hours and she accompanied me to bed. No attempt at action from either of us. She just crawled up behind me and snuggled the back of my neck as we fell asleep. I remember my last thought being that Heide didn't really feel like a filthy whore laying under our own clean sheets.

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In the morning I lazed around, slowly ate breakfast, again cooked by my loyal, loving wife, and got onto my home office computer. I told her I had taken a sick day off to nurse my hangover. Shortly before lunch, she asked if I wanted her to stay home to care for me and I, of course, assured her I was among the living and she should go find another $300 pair of women's pumps.

As she left to join up with Meredith it dawned on me that not all of her 'shopping' days had been spent in private rooms at the sex club. Obviously, some part of her nights out had been genuinely haunting the bargain shops. Whatever the hell consolation that was.

As I was clearing out my office email I was reminded of Spencer McCoy, a guy who had worked under me before he took early retirement last year. He was a bit older than me, but we got along very well and became close. He and his wife had even come over to our house for BBQ a couple of times

Spencer had often confided over after hour beers about the good times he had up at Rye Balled. He might be a great resource to learn more about my Heidi's professional life as I still wanted to know more of the whole story before we had our show down.

I still had him listed on my cell phone and one poke at the screen had it booping. He answered on the third ring and we went through the usual howdy, how you been, ritual. I then reminded him of his knowledge of the club and asked him if he recalled anything about a woman from Rye Balled named Flaming Red. He snorted into the phone and went silent for a couple of seconds.

"RECALL!! Hell, I watched her dancing, just the night before last, buddy. There's no 'recalling' that lady. My favorite dancer! But why is 'salt of the earth' Merl White interested in Flaming Red? Ohh...no, don't even think about it boss!"

Paydirt in my quest for more intelligence! Spence knew of my legendary spouse and I thought he would spill all for sure. I was able to dodge his queries about my interest and suggested I could tell him more if we got together for a catch-up luncheon. We agreed on meeting at noon on Friday.

He suggested we go out to Rye Balled but I nixed that saying they were famous for a lot of things, but food wasn't one of them, and I probably couldn't afford to pick up that tab. We agreed upon Sherry's, across the street from our office, that we knew quite well.

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I killed the rest of Wednesday at home, logging in to the on-line archives of the City Tribune which is a free look-up of every issue since it went digital.

Under "Flaming Red", there were many, many refences in advertisements from Rye Balled. The earliest was dated about 2 ½ years ago, but the frequency increased dramatically over the last year and a half.

I then found two rather gossipy items linking Mayor Burns to the mysterious Flaming Red from Rye Balled. Those I read three times over, but were really very short on what seemed to be verifiable, detailed information. That sparked a latent memory of reading that our Mayor was involved with some bimbo. At that time, of course, I had no fucking idea of who Flaming Red was, or that I was sleeping with her nightly. A photo was alluded to but not viewable in the index. I made a note of the issue date so I could look it up in hard copy at the library.

There was one other item, from the sports page, where one of the baseball stars from our local AAA franchise was quoted as referring to his girlfriend as "hotter than Flaming Red". No way to know for sure, but it seemed like he was alluding to my Flaming Red, who he apparently saw as the widely recognized icon of female sexuality around these parts. Bursting with pride was I. I'm wondering just how well this jock had gotten to really know Flaming Red, or was he just another one of her wannabes?

Under "Heide White". I found a few references that I well knew about. She had been the Maid of Honor at her cousin's wedding some years ago, and she had been interviewed by the police as a witness to a hit and run auto fatality. I don't recall they ever did catch that scum bag. She was listed among the volunteers at a couple of charity events. And there was another one that I didn't know anything about at all...Heide White, who was described as an "employee", was witness to an armed robbery in the Rye Balled Club last December.

The article described the holdup of the bar at Rye Balled. The Tribune had interviewed several employees of the establishment who saw the whole thing, but they only stated seeing two, apparently black, men in masks and with handguns who ran out a side door. Among those named employees had been my darling wife, and one Meredith Daley. Humm.

I recalled reading about that heist which had been in the news over a span of several days. If I remembered correctly, they never were apprehended, but it is possible that they were, and I just never caught that story.

What I found most intriguing about that bit of news was simply that Heide had never mentioned to me having been questioned about this scary event. Not once. I surely would recall having learned that the love of my life had faced down armed robbers. I assume that she did not mention it to me as she simply didn't want me to worry too much. I am one of those guys who is waiting for the asking price on the Brooklyn Bridge to come down a bit more.

Or, possibly, she just forgot to mention it. After all, she did forget to mention that she had even been inside that disreputable establishment before the ladies' "disappointing" night out there just a few weeks back.

I started a new Word file on my PC to record these interesting discoveries, jic. They could possibly become relevant in some future court proceeding. I labeled the file "Insurance" and cut & pasted in the indexed articles.

I easily avoided any further conversation with Heide that day simply because she did not get home until long after my bedtime. Thursday it would have been trickier to stay away from her with the so-called girl's night out not starting until late afternoon. But I avoided that by going to the office and getting some real work done.

I did try a call to my new friend Greg Daley and caught him before he had to depart for his night shift. Learning it was his partner in commiseration on the phone, he mustered his version of enthusiasm." What's up?"

"Greg, I wanted to ask you about the robbery around Christmas time at Rye Balled. Do you remember that one?

"Of course, I do, buddy. Both our ladies saw that thing go down."

"Right, Greg. So, did those robbers ever get caught?"

"I'm pretty sure they didn't. I remember our gals talking about it over here for weeks afterwards. I'm sure you know they were quoted in the Tribune about witnessing that. I think they had some airy-fairy fear that the black dudes would come after them to silence them."

I commented that it wasn't likely since the gals had not seen anything useful. I closed off the query saying that I had just been curious about the disposition of the case. I gave him a friendly sign-off hoping to keep the line of communication open.

I have to hand it to my spouse; she had been so considerate. Getting her name splashed in the paper as witness to an armed robbery but keeping her genuine fears of retribution entirely to herself and not wanting to burden her husband with a single word about the whole episode. I would have been so worried if I had known. And she must have suffered through a fear that someone would tell me about the article in the paper. Bravest women I know.

On the way home, I detoured by the central library and found the big side room full of City Tribune daily issues over the decades. I fished the noted issue date out of my billfold and quickly located the January 27^th issue. I recalled the front-page photo, I had originally skimmed the issue as per usual, but I never read the gossip pages.

The black and white photo of my darling with her new friend, Rudolf Burns was on page six. Of course, it was not taken in the glitzy Rye Balled club, they don't allow cameras in there I suppose. Instead, it seemed to be on a downtown street with what might have been the stairs to City Hall in background. A limo was front and center, with a pretty lady stepping out onto the street facing the camera, with a nattily dressed gent assisting her out, using both his hands.

Anyone who knew the Mayor would have recognized him from his profile. The elegant woman not so much, with her hair falling over her forehead and her face looking downward toward her feet.

One of Flaming Red's many fans might or might not have identified her from the picture, but her stage name in the caption would surely have been a tip off. A casual friend of Heide White probably would not have recognized her as the woman in the Mayor's eager hands, but I certainly was in no doubt it was she. Wow, outside the club even? Clearly, a close acquaintanceship. I made a few photocopies and went home.

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With Friday arriving, I eagerly anticipated my luncheon date with Spencer. Since it was near the office, I did go in a couple hours earlier to return some emails and sign a couple of things. My comely, right-hand woman was clearly concerned about my absences but tried bravely to disguise her curiosity. My mind wandered very briefly to the notion that Gretch might make a nice fill-in for my love life after Heide. For 4 or 5 seconds that is. Several reasons that could never come to be.

The restaurant was at its Friday noon-hour peak when I got there, but Spence had secured a small table near the back where I joined him. I spotted Sherry, the owner, when I came in. After greetings, we grabbed the menus tucked between the condiment jars and made our choices. Sherry herself came over, order book in hand...at lunch hour peak even the owner pitches in waiting tables. We exchanged a few flirty words before she headed off to put our orders in the queue.

We started right in on topic A. The unforgettable Flaming Red. He immediately pressed me to know why I was so interested in one of the community's foremost prostitutes. Big smirk on his face. I replied that that was the first time I had heard her called by that title. He responded that there were many names for a hooker but she sells access to her body for cash money so I could choose my preference about the job title. I think I'll stay with whore.

"My interest in this club 'dancer' actually stems from my wife. Heide saw a woman's picture with the Mayor and seems to think she knows that woman from her college days. She urged me to look into it and that reminded me of you, which seemed like a good excuse to catch up on what's going on in your life." I had expected this question of course and had practiced my words carefully.

"Oh yeah, good old Mayor Burnsy. Well, some folks around Rye believes it is a real affair. Or 'was' is a better choice of word. I think the heat from the references in the paper made him cool it. But I know I, for one, saw them pretty cozy one night.

"I heard the Mayor himself asks for her by name when he gets in there. I'm not sure how a public servant could afford Flaming Red. Maybe he gets a special rate. I got to do a lap dance with her last year and it cost me a fortune. But that was a memorable night for me."

"Cool, my wife will be extremely interested. Do you know anything else intimate about her, or the two of them?"

"Well, I am not up there all that often as you seem to think. But I know I saw them together more than once. Only one time canoodling, like I said, but just walking along hand in hand or even just talking close together. I haven't seen Rudy in sometime lately. But Red is there pretty regularly. I get as close to her as I can afford, but I know that is a lost cause. What a woman" he breathed out heavily.

I smiled at his expression of devotion, "Anything else you can recall about her activities? I don't suppose there is any remote chance you know any personal shit about the lady?"

"Not really, Merl. When I was in the booth with her, she mostly asked me about myself and my sexual desires, nothing personal about her highness herself."

I had to ask..." what else did you do besides chit chat?"

"Well" he said "the girls each have their own way of doing things. But Red is the no-nonsense type, gets right to the point. Which I guess is why she gets paid the highest amount of any of the ladies in there."

Looking around to see if anyone was within eavesdropping range, I asked "Care to elaborate?"

"Boy you want the blow by blow don't ya?"

"And the suck by fuck". Grin.

"Well. I think you may be a sicko, boss. But you did me some big favors during my career, so here you go."

"No favors. Spence, you earned every promotion you got."

"Thank you Merl. Well, I will elaborate on the details of my time with the amazing Flaming Red. I said I saw them 'cozy'. What I saw was the Mayor and Red in a swing set for two. She was topless. His arm was around her shoulders, far enough around that his hand rested on her bare boob. She was bending her head over and rubbing her cheek on the back of his hand. It was clear she wanted his hand there.

"She had her left hand on his crotch, and it looked like maybe she was squeezing. He was licking his upper lip and smiling and rolling his eyes like this was the best moment of his fucking life. Since there had to be a dozen people taking this all in, I just couldn't believe an elected official would be doing that. I figured that he had to have been under the influence of something pretty strong. And maybe her too, but I don't think she has any voters to answer to.

"I didn't see them orgasm, but soon they got out of the swing and disappeared into her private VIP room. I can't say for sure if he fucked her or not."

"But all that was about how Mayor Burns got laid. You skipped over what happened to Spencer McCoy? Do I deduce that he got laid too?"

"Well, I can't say I did dip my wick into the fabulous Flaming Red. But I did cum, and those gals have a way to make you feel like you actually fucked them. Just way too much female for a humble man like me to resist. She was amazing!" Spencer wound down like a torn balloon.

"OK, OK...gotcha 'lucky'. Thank you very much. I wish you could be there when I tell this to my wife" I said.

I was feeling very sick and having trouble hiding it. I had to get out of there. I left $40 on the table to cover the tab and let Spencer know my stomach flu was coming on me again. I don't know if he really bought that. If he ever learns he was relating his story to the husband of Flaming Red, he will perhaps understand about my sudden stomach distress.

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When I got home about 3pm Heide was, of course, at work. Or was this her night to hit the Goodwill circuit? Hard to keep track of that woman's busy schedule.

I think I have pretty much made up my mind where to go with this hot potato but needed a couple of bourbon and coke doubles to help with my fussy stomach.

Just about the only thing on the positive side of keeping her around...well you heard it from eyewitnesses, the hottest fuck in the county, if not the entire known universe. That alone does count for a lot.

But offsetting that is the realization that I am getting laid at best once, or with luck, twice a week. Presumably, I could buy her pussy that often at the club, for a lot less money than it costs to support a woman for life.

HOLY SHIT! The money!!! What is the matter with me?! I interrupted my reverie. What I had heard made it very clear she was cleaning up to the tune of thousands a night for, maybe (quick mental arithmetic) close to 350 nights since her career started.

Since she didn't have any friends or family leaching on her, and I paid all the household expenses, and was pretty sure she doesn't have any major drug habit...where could all that money have gone? Did she even pay income taxes? I hope. But I don't see how she could have since her social security number is on our joint return. I don't think a person can file two separate tax returns. Did Rye Balled even file W-2s?