Can You Cheat in an Open Marrriage?

OMG, this really needs some further investigation! I may be divorcing Heidi, but I damn sure don't want her entertaining the inmates at a Federal lock up. I also wouldn't want to walk away from a possible stake in hundreds of thousands in greenbacks.

I had been planning on putting on a bit of a disguise and going to the club tonight to check out their star attraction. No. A thousand times no. Now, what do we need to do to locate her stash?

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I had all night to start here at home. She must have some incriminating...let's just call it 'informative" ...stuff hidden around somewhere. I started with our fire safe and looked into every envelope and folder in there. Of course, nothing.

I got out a ladder and looked on top of every piece of furniture in the house and garage. Lots of dust.

The bedroom and bathroom, of course. Every drawer was carefully gone through and turned over. Her big jewelry box turned up a fairly well-hidden, but to be expected, "secret drawer" exposing a couple of gaudy-looking necklaces that I don't recall ever seeing on her and didn't think they were in the style of my usually classy lady. Had to be faux diamonds and maybe crap she wore on the job.

There was also one of those glassine fronted cardboard sleeves that collector coins come in. That encased an obviously old-style 1833 gold coin of the United States. The outer ring said Four D which I guessed meant dollars. I was reasonably sure the value today would be a bit higher than face value in 1833.

These things were interesting but wouldn't prove a damn thing.

I quickly passed through my home office with a cursory search; she rarely went in there as she used her cell phone in lieu of a PC. And, she would never have invaded the hanging files I poke through so frequently.

Her closet held about three dozen garments, most with pockets. Nothings slutty or revealing, I had to assume she kept her "business" wardrobe out at Rye Balled. A lot of searching the pockets and purses turned up nothing but pocket lint.

A side trip to my PC and a 15-minute search for rare coins, turns up one that looks just like this one. It listed at $600,000 in fine condition. That's dollars, American!!! I know nothing about grading coins, but this sucker was probably worth as much as our house!

Well, a big puzzle, a major fucking puzzle indeed. I thought about grabbing the coin and taking it in to a coin shop, but figured she was likely to check on it regularly, so I decided to leave it in the jewelry box where I found it. For now.

The search continued into the kitchen where there are numerous drawers with recipes and other cooking related literature. A one-drawer vertical file is chock-a-block with file folders for magazine clippings, etc. like 'Holiday Recipes', 'Making Ice Cream', 'Basting Birds', etc. etc.

One folder was hand labeled 'Grandma's Recipes' and held a medium thick manila envelope. Heide is an excellent cook, and she had often accredited her mom's mom with the inspiration. The manilla envelope was held shut by one of those twine cords that threads around a cardboard button.

It seemed unlikely that Heide would hide anything very revealing in her kitchen, but then it occurred to me that, since I never ever get the urge to try actual cooking, she could feel sure a place like this would be more than secure. I didn't expect much but, to be thorough, I opened it. Pulling out the contents, my heart jumped into my throat! Excuse me for yet another of my rhetorical impossibilities.

On top there were a good number of 5" by 7" color prints. It was immediately clear that the common theme was Mrs. Heide White, aka Flaming Red, in various states of (mostly) undress and with one or more other persons, usually males, usually in similar states of disrobe. They were pictured in posh hotel-like bedrooms and a few outdoor settings, in different positions, with varying kinds of intimate contact. Some were apparently the work of professional photographer(s). Many displayed some degree of genital penetration...yes, that means involving my WIFE's familiar genitals!

I am trying to present this in a calm and professional manner, but how many of you have ever seen a full color portfolio of your own wife in such poses with different and unknown cocksmen?

I paused over one of them (actually a pair of them) since the back of the naked man's head, buried between my wife's perfect bare thighs, seemed suggestive of Spence McCoy's curly black hair. I shrugged that off, lots of men have curly black hair and you can bet that any one of them would kill to pose in these photos.

Collectively the pictures could have formed the backbone of a very hot text on pornography. Maybe they had.

Ignoring my growing boner, I went on to find a couple of Word documents stapled together under the title "Rye Balled Employee Regulations". I set those aside to read later if I really got bored.

The next item was a small, pocket size address book. It had just a dozen or so entries giving only a first name, and a phone number. All in what looked like my wife's feminine hand, and none seemed to be friend's names such as Meredith. Curious, but not hard to guess what the entries were since each one was a man's name. Of course, she keeps real friends listed on her cell phone like any modern person does. I'll bet these names do not appear on her phone index, which reminded me I have to spend some time with that device the next time she is asleep.

Scanning through the list of names, I spotted at least one with some potential for further study. It was "Spence". I checked my own phone and found that my Spencer McCoy had the very same number. Hmmm. If I ignore that, I am twice the fool.

Not necessarily an alarm signal. He told me he had been in her private room and had gotten quite intimate with her. Is it so strange that a woman saves the phone number of a man who she has been having sex with? So, maybe Spence just forgot to mention that he had given her his phone number, but that they never had further contact.

The guy photographed between my wife's perfect thighs could have been just an accidental look-alike. Yeah, maybe. And who the fuck had been the camera person for this so intimate event?

Maybe this entire "case" I had been building was all in my imagination. Big fat maybe. But I was currently persuaded that my old friend had known much, much more about Flaming Red than he admitted, such as how her pussy tastes when you eat it in a grassy field outside the club. And that his damning report was,

in reality, a big old whitewash covering up an affair he would not want me or his wife to get wind of. Getting angry now.

The other recognizable name in the book was "Rudy". That had to be Mayor Rudolf Burns. Not a common name in this century. Do you think she had to discuss some important civic business?

Also, in the "Grandma's Recipes" folder were a couple of small wall calendars. Numbers were scrawled on many of the little date squares in what looked like my wife's handwriting. They started with Wed. Jan 17 in the 2018 calendar with $605 entered. On Fri. Jan 19 she recorded $762. Wed. Jan 24 showed $750 and Fri. Jan 26 $1,210.

If I recalled correctly, mid-January was about the time my wife and Meredith first started with their Goodwill shopping trips. Dollar entries also began appearing in the Thursday boxes about the time I remembered that those girls-night-outs began. I peeked ahead into the second calendar and, lo' and behold, the dollar entries suddenly were appearing 4 nights in a row. Saturdays had been added, and they were bigger numbers indeed.

Remember what started happening on Saturdays? For a few weeks the Saturday entries showed some relatively lower dollar entries, in the low to mid hundreds, but abruptly they jumped to the low thousands. I think this might be attributable to the start of the "folk singing".

Eventually the Saturday numbers ran into the mid thousands of dollars each! I visualized a very cute bare ass climbing the tall ladder of success, with her buns sticking out invitingly. All entries stopped with the end of the 2019 calendar.

By way of confirmation, I looked at the last week in August 2019, when we had gone on our Alaskan cruise vacation. Not a single monetary entry! At least she hadn't been working the decks while I was asleep.

If these numbers represent what I am almost certain they represent, my gal got off to a great start at renting out her gorgeous body and she was a very fast learner.

The dollar entries did not show a running total but must come to a huge figure. I probably should have spelled that "cum". There were no calendars after 2019 so either she discontinued this record keeping entirely or found a new place to hide the following months.

At that point I heard the garage door opening so I quickly stuffed everything back in Grandma's Recipes and quietly ran out of the kitchen. I left the light on as I wasn't sure if turning it off could be spotted from the garage through the door crack. I undressed as I hustled upstairs. I don't usually set my alarm for Saturdays, a non-working day, but I left my watch on and quickly set it for 4am. I trusted that the silent vibration would not waken Heide. I was affecting a pretty convincing snore as she quietly came in the bedroom door.

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Saturday, at 4 am, I awakened with a vibration on my wrist and a stealthy agenda in mind. This Sherlock stuff was surprisingly stimulating. To be sure, the inexorable discoveries of my wife's widespread unfaithfulness and sluttiness were disturbing the crap out of me, but I had for some days already felt that our marriage was history, and this investigation was strangely therapeutic to me. If I had failed as the husband to a premier hot wife, I might at least find work as a P I.

I silently dressed, and even more quietly took her cell phone off the charger cord on her bedstand. I headed down to the kitchen where the light was still on and shut the door behind me. I poured a cup of remnant Joe from yesterday's pot, put some ice in it, and sat down at the counter by her files. I put Heide's phone on the counter and opened "Grandma's Recipes".

On her phone I went straight to her text histories. I looked up Spencer McCoy's number on my own phone and then located the same number on Heide's, sans an identifying name. I reviewed the many exchanges between the two going back several months. Gotta love these new, top of the line cellular devices even when I can seldom figure out how to make them work right.

Their texts began with a fairly long text message from him emotionally thanking her for the unbelievable time he had in her "lap" and professing his undying appreciation for her, which she must have thought was sick puppy teenage stuff. But I knew her to be rather a sucker for over-the-top adulation from men, I had abused that myself on many occasions.

Her response was surprisingly warm for something from a professional lady of the evening. She said how affected she had been by his 'loving' and assured him that she had never before allowed a customer all the way inside her in the VIP room. I suspected that was bald-ass bullshit on her part. But it clearly told me that this particular customer had been allowed access to the sanctity of her innerds. Funny how that is quite the opposite of what my friend had told me. Of course, to put that in context, he knew that it was my wife he was talking about, so we could forgive him for glossing over a few details.

He responded with apologies for cuming so quickly and she returned with some sweet bullshit about how that was to be expected in the club environment. Then she blew me away with the text "next time we meet outside club and i make you last hours!"

I had to put the phone down for a minute after reading that. My God, she was already signing up for a 'next time', committing to and ongoing affair with old Spencer, and one I'm sure she was not allowed by her employer. I know Spence is a physically fit, smooth talker and still handsome, but he is at least 20 years older than this woman, who could have almost any living man with balls between his thighs. MY woman. Amazing.

The exchanges go on after that with increasing expressions of "I love you" from Spencer after it was clear that they had hooked up for a second time. She never said the L word back but responded with a heart or a cupid emoji every time he said it.

They continued to meet once or twice a week, an hour or two before she started her shift at Rye Balled. She texted him "no good after work. i be orgasmed out. merl raise hell if i come home at 3am". As an informed third party to this exchange, I could vouch that she was correct.

Of course, they continued to meet and greet inside the club as well, but they apparently minimized that because why pay so much to the club when he was getting Flaming Red multiple times a week for free. I assumed no money was changing hands, but how would I know? They didn't text the blow by blow, but I knew blowing to be one of her signature skills.

Their mush goes on and on, with increasingly lurid and suggestive texts. Their most frequent topic was how, when and where they could fuck again. They both liked to use the F word. The first time he used it he apologized right afterwards. Her response was, "spence, i don't like that as cuss word"...I could attest to that..."but always want to hear it from ur mouth if you use it as verb to say what we did or you plan to do with me."

That seemed to really set Spencer off. "deal! I want to hear you say "fuck" a lot for what we do but not with anybody else. if you go all the way with client, i want you say you had sex, not you 'fucked him'. if merl wants to get laid, then 'laid' is what you call it. o.k.? don't ever say you fucked him. if you think that will happen, you text me before and i give you permission to go all the way with merl. maybe I will say no. understand?"

OMG, there is so much hidden content in this pronouncement. First most, it means that he knows her by her real name and not just as Flaming Red. He also knows, full well, that she is the wife of his long-time friend and boss, Merl White. And he knew that well before I approached him pretending that I was enquiring on behalf of my wife.

Then, consider his dom attitude toward Heidi and his outrageous demand that she gets his permission to fuck, I mean have sex with, me, her legally married husband! At no point did she push back on any of this from him. She was playing the total sub to this man. Way too much for me to swallow.

Most of their other texts had been about when and where they would meet to fuck and those more recently were clearly declining in frequency. She was "busy" for some of his proposed meetings.

The subject of Mayor Burns came up at the time that was happening and was majorly texted about. After she had been outed in the paper, he went ballistic. He fried her for going all the way with Rudy and she begged for his tolerance. She emphasized how much it meant to her career and for her income too.

She began to reassert some of her usual dominating personality, and he back-peddled on his power play. The contest of wills ended when my wife made the statement "Mayor is cutting it off for now, but I will have sex with Rudy whenever I want, and I am going to 'fuck' him too!" So, Spencer's 'tough guy' dom routine lasted all of a few weeks.

I read a startling exchange from only a month ago. He started it with "OMG, 100 yards from spouses at picnic!". It seemed they had slipped off together and had a quick fuck in the woods. This was specially of interest to me because at that time Heide and I had attended the annual pig roast out at Palisades Park. It was for present and former employees of FinCo. And, I clearly recall Spencer McCoy having been there and he and his wife had chatted for some time with me, and even more so with my wife.

I didn't specifically remember any time they went missing, but I was distracted lots of times engaging with other employees and it would be naïve to say she couldn't have gone into the woods cock hunting. Shit, she could have laid half a dozen guys I suppose.

Then, Heide's response "I know, thats the naughtiest ever. you cumed in 3 mins. I could even hear his voice thru the trees."

DAMN! A topic to explore when she and I got together to chat about infidelity.

The remaining texts were brief and mostly just details for their less frequent meet-ups, until we get to the blockbuster that I knew would be coming.

"christ heide, why didn't you warn me? merl just called. wants to meet!"

"so?"

"he wants to have lunch + 'catch up'. he ask if I know about flaming red! "

"jesus! this is major! maybe i'm screwed. was sure he didn't know about my working. what did u say?" she texted.

" little bit. if he knows flaming red name he must have idea what she is. i said she's my favorite dancer + a hottie. he would know i was lying if i said didn't know anything" Spencer replied.

Heide asked "can you call me now? i'm alone. texting is crap".

"right away"

Shit, I lose the record when they go to voice. So, what can we guess? He must have asked her what he dared to say to me and how to behave. I suppose she said to downplay it, but he had already let the cat out of the bag, so he had to tell some believable details.

Whatever their relationship had gotten to be, it was not clear if they had tweaked to the idea that I knew my wife was the Flaming Red person. I certainly hadn't implied any such thing. Too confusing for me...

What I most wanted to know out of this was where her mind was at vis' a vis' our marriage. Not that I was planning on sticking it out, but was she even trying to stay married? Mostly an issue of pride for me, not reality.

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Sunday, we are still sleeping in the same bed, but not touching or talking. I slept in as long as I could tolerate and then got up, ate some cereal and headed out. I told Heide I was going to the office, in a civil tone. She said, "Have a nice day". I had a key, of course, and lots of cleanup work got accomplish so I wouldn't have an unmanageable mess when I do decide to show up full time.

On my return I took the long way, driving past Rye Balled. There were two cars near one of the entrances to the building and one well out in the big parking lot. Maybe the latter had just failed to start at closing last night. I lingered for a while, thinking the ones close to the door could be managers' cars.

I enquired of my trusty cell phone and was able to google the name of the General Manager of this establishment. Devin Durand. Small chance maybe, but why not? I went over and chose the smaller, single door, well past the double doors clearly meant for crowd traffic. I knocked as loudly as could be managed and did it 4 or 5 times. Just as I was about to give up, a beautiful young woman, dressed in casual office attire, trotted down a flight of stairs. She hesitated behind the glass door.

Not knowing what else to do, I held my billfold up to the glass, displaying my driver's license for her to read. She squinted to make out my name and then started tapping on the cell phone she held in her hand. In seconds, she opened the door a crack and asked Merl White? Are you related to Heide White? I said I was her husband with my best big smile. "She's not here today Mr. White. The club is closed on Sundays". "Of course, I know that mam. I was hoping to see Devin Durand if he was working today."

She reverted to the phone again and spoke with someone. "He says fine, Mr. White," swinging the door wider. I stepped in and motioned for her to lead the way. Cool. Now I had a very few seconds to figure out what I was going to say. Planning ahead is my mantra.