Cheating on a Cheating Wife

I looked at the wall of my office, hating what I saw there. I would have preferred to see a life sized poster of Todd to what actually was near my desk, with a speech bubble coming out of his mouth saying, 'Hey Jeff, I fucked your wife today.' With my wife so busy and our married life increasingly distant as the years passed, one might think that I would be largely ignored and left to my own devices.

In some ways I was ignored, Libby did not even mention me in her second book and I doubted I would rate a mention in the third either. When she travelled to different cities within Australia, she never took me with her. However, traits in my wife I thought admirable in our relationship in the early days were now biting me on the arse harder than a saltwater crocodile.

I thought Libby's super-organized ways were a sign of how driven she was, and that the way she was so interested in my life was a sign she cared and wanted the best for me. Boy, how wrong was I. On the wall opposite my desk was a timetable Libby had prepared for me. It listed what I would do at each time of the day, when I would be working in my office, and various chores and errands and when I would do these. There was a check list of daily chores Libby wanted me to do, and she kept the same list to check and mark off the things she had instructed me to do when she returned home and address any failings.

Also on the wall was my diet for the week, a weekly exercise timetable and lists of goals for me to achieve, short term and long term, the top of which on the short term list was 'Lose the Excessive Weight'. Libby made a point of weighing me weekly, although she would sometimes order me on the scales for a spot check at any time. She said that in her position, she could not have a fat husband by her side to embarrass her.

To Libby's abject horror, at my last weigh-in I had gained a kilo and now weighed 71 kilograms rather than the usual 70. Therefore the loss of the extra kilogram was my top priority, Libby had put it on top of my weekly list in size 26 double bold font with a picture of a fat purple monster next to it to give me extra motivation.

According to Libby's schedule, I was supposed to be having lunch now, and as I was hungry it seemed as following her instructions was the best thing to do, so went downstairs. While I did most of the housework -- although Libby would re-do any tasks she thought not up to standard -- the kitchen was Libby's domain. If she could, she would fence it off to keep me out.

Libby prepared all meals in the house, meticulously laying out all the ingredients and weighing and measuring them, using an app on her phone to calculate the kilojoules in each portion. Today for lunch I had a quinoa and spinach salad, with tofu, celery and watercress and no dressing, washed down with water. Yum, what a treat! As I took it from the fridge, I looked at the two small bottles of beer remaining from a six pack on the top shelf.

As part of my wife's diet plan for me she allowed me one treat drink on a Saturday and one treat dessert on Wednesday evening. Libby decreed that I was allowed to have three scoops of regular yoghurt rather than diet yoghurt with my fresh fruit each Wednesday evening after dinner, and drink a stubby of beer each Saturday evening. Once I finished a six pack of beer, I was not allowed to go to the bottle shop until the next Saturday afternoon and due to drink beer again. It was Thursday, so I was eagerly anticipating drinking the amber fluid in two days' time.

Libby didn't like me eating in my study, but she wasn't there so what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, so took my tofu salad and water up to my desk and again tried to get back to work. I was way behind, obviously going off into the city and stalking my wife wasn't included on the daily schedule she set for me. But still I could not concentrate, and rather than doing my work looked at the internet pages for my wife's growing health and fitness empire and her social media pages.

Most of the comments were glowing endorsements of how Fitness Queen Libby had changed their lives and helped them become happier, fitter and thinner. Some of the comments were obsessive and cult-like, suggesting that those who left them had bigger issues in their lives than weight and fitness. One woman went so far as to say without Libby she wouldn't have the will to live.

However, it wasn't the praise I was after it was the negative comments about my wife I sought out. On one weight loss website a woman had commented that she had read Libby's books and followed her online advice and actually gained weight, obviously not at all happy about the situation. Another guy complained about the business practices of the gyms she and her family owned, saying that he had joined one down at Frankston and after having negative experiences there, had money deducted from his bank account months after cancelling and had trouble getting this stopped and the money refunded.

Some other comments about my wife on other sites were even less complimentary. On one social media site there was a promotional video of Libby and her squad -- including of course Todd in a black tank top and very short shorts -- exercising in scenic spots up in Sydney. They were in the Domain, around Sydney Harbour with the Bridge and Opera House behind them, and at Bondi, Manly and Cronulla Beaches. I remembered when they went up to New South Wales to film it, I thought I would be free of Libby for a week. Unfortunately, my wife left me a list of chores to be completed while she was away, and thanks to modern technology called me on my phone at every chance she got to make sure I was doing them.

Many of the comments on the video were the same fawning, cult-like praise seen on others about how wonderful Libby was. Perhaps she would be nominated for sainthood? Others were definitely of a sexual nature, from pervy guys. One guy reckoned my wife had the best arse in Australia, and my wife's bum in the video definitely looked good clad in Lycra. Another guy posted that whenever he saw Libby Larson he had to go to his bedroom and roll up his sleeves, making sure that he had plenty of tissues. Others were more basic, calling her 'hot', 'sexy', a 'MILF' and 'a cougar'. One young man stated how he wanted to get my wife pregnant, and another obviously didn't want her to get pregnant, as his fantasy in life was to be one of Libby's tampons. Um, okay ..... Was he related to the other guy who said he wanted to be my wife's toilet paper?

However, one comment had generated an interesting discussion, commencing with a woman posting, 'I went school with this bitch'. Two of Libby's fans had immediately come to the defense of their idol, but one guy had thought to clarify the comment and asked what Libby was like as a teenager at high school. The opening poster had replied that she was a stuck up diva, obsessed with winning at any cost and walked around high school thinking that her shit didn't stink.

Then came more comments, one from somebody who went to her gym before she became famous calling Libby 'a complete cow, nothing more, nothing less.' Two former students chimed in, recounting experiences from when Libby was a high school PE teacher. One girl said she was a control freak who ridiculed girls who were no good at sports, openly favored the ones who were and was over-competitive to the point of insanity. A boy said that he entered high school in Year 7 very overweight, and that he couldn't swim. PE teacher Libby had ridiculed him for not being able to swim in front of the entire class, boys and girls, and then fat shamed him, saying he shouldn't be afraid of the water as fat floats, then stood back amused as a group of Year 10 boys who had heard all of this threw him in the deep end of the pool and dragged him under with them.

This bullying behavior seemed to date back before this to when Libby was at school herself. Another guy posted how he had gone to Libby as she was girls' house captain and head female prefect as he was being bullied by older boys, most of whom were prefects too. Libby had apparently said she would advise the school authorities of the bullying, and also suggested that she join him in private in a pine plantation after school so she could teach him techniques of handling bullies' mean comments. Not only did Libby fail to report the bullying, but from out of the trees came the bullies, who Libby had told about the boy's claims. Libby and her female friends then watched as the bullies taught the boy a lesson about what happens to boys who are dobbers and wimps who can't take a bit of fun.

Another comment was not only critical of Libby, but of me too. It was from a woman who claimed to be a former waitress and how at a restaurant Libby had gone through the ingredients of several dishes on the menu, sending back one she didn't like and rudely demanding to speak to the manager, 'all while her useless husband sat there and did nothing.' I remembered the incident, although it was one of many.

My wife and restaurants weren't really a good combination. One time when we went out for a family celebration to a buffet restaurant for my parents' anniversary -- my mother and father not too thrilled by the presence of their daughter-in-law and not my brother's wife -- Libby followed me around the buffet directing what foods and in which quantity I could put on my one allowed plate. After this, I was allowed to return the buffet for a single serve of fruit salad.

I nibbled at the tasteless tofu and tried to focus on my work again, succeeding for a short time as I worked on a Year 8 Geography curriculum on the Solar System. I sighed and shook my head, knowing my hard work would probably be in vain when it reached Victoria's classrooms. The group assignment would see a class of kids fighting to get into the group that did a presentation on Uranus. And the essay would result in 95 percent of them being about Uranus. I had taught kids that age long enough to know that. My wife's lover was probably among the boys laughing and disrupting the class about the large green planet orbiting between Saturn and Neptune just a decade ago.

Thinking about school made me think about the reasons I stayed in my marriage, and did not dare confront Libby about the way she controlled every aspect of my life much less about her infidelity. One, I was afraid of her, her pretty face hid a terrible temper and a mean-spirited and vindictive streak if you crossed her. Two, Libby had more money than me and that meant better lawyers to take me to the cleaners in the court if we divorced. Three, in spite of everything deep down I still loved Libby, and I would wistfully look our photos from our wedding and honeymoon, hoping we could recapture what we had back then, although the truth I didn't want to face was that deep down I knew we never would.

The fourth reason was the house next door, or to be more precise one of the residents there, a certain young lady by the name of Montana Miles. If Libby and I separated, I would have to move and I would not see Montana again. I looked out of my study windows at their house, which was a double story house in the same design as ours. Across from my study window was the window occupied by Montana. I looked through the curtains, I could not see Montana but I could see her pussy.

I looked at Montana's pussy for a few minutes, the black and white tuxedo cat enjoying the rays of sunlight in the window, washing her ears and whiskers. Montana was not there. Of course she wasn't, she was 18-years-old and in Year 12 at high school, and it was a Thursday. But it was now approaching two, and Montana would be coming home from school soon.

Going to the kitchen to wash my plate, glass and cutlery, I thought about how I could be outside when Montana came home from school, so I could set up a chance meeting.

*

Fortunately for me, one of Libby's tasks she had set for me was raking the leaves on the front lawn. Libby's list of tasks for me to complete would sometimes be flexible, some items I could complete tomorrow if I didn't get to them today. Raking the leaves was one of them, but I got out the gardening tools and was casually dealing with the leaves, taking as long as possible while looking up the street from the direction of the bus stop from where Montana caught the bus to and from high school each day.

Montana did have a drivers' license, I remember seeing her girlish excitement and glee when she returned home having passed her practical test last year. I would often see her driving one of her parents' cars, her P-plates displayed, but never to high school. The bus ran pretty much straight from her house to her school and back, so that was how she got there most days.

I saw the bus pass by and waited to see Montana appear from around the corner, but she did not to my disappointment. Perhaps she was doing something after school? Or maybe given Montana had a part time job in a sandwich shop at the nearby shopping center, perhaps she had a shift there this afternoon and gone direct from school when it finished for the day?

In any case, my speculation on Montana's absence lasted only another two minutes or so, when I saw one of her family's cars coming up the road, the car's indicator turning on and the automatic garage door sliding up to allow the vehicle entry. Making sure I was raking close to the mail boxes at the end of the driveway, I waited as the car engine stopped and the doors opened, the three occupants stepped out.

From the back of the car came Montana herself, while her father Tony was at the wheel. Climbing out of the passenger seat was Montana's other father Will. Libby and I had not long moved to this house in early 2003 when we got new neighbors. We were told it was a couple and their young daughter. Expecting a husband and wife to move in, I was surprised to find the couple was a gay male couple with their adopted daughter Montana, then aged six.

Not that I minded, I had never had a problem with gay people and Brad and Will were really nice as was their daughter. In the 12 years since Montana had obviously grown from a child to a pre-teen, then a teenager and now a young adult who had celebrated her 18th birthday earlier this year.

And a very beautiful young adult. I watched as Montana made her way towards the letterbox, feeling the excitement of anyone with a crush who sees the object of their affection. Having seen Montana grow up, it was hard to believe that I had developed a crush on her in the months since she reached the age of 18. Not that I could of course do anything about it, she was the neighbors daughter still in high school and I was married.

But I could look, and there were plenty of fine sights to see when one looked at Montana. Her long dark hair cascaded loose down the shoulders of her slim, five feet seven body, and she smiled at me, giving me a friendly wave as she saw me, a gesture I returned. Apart from her ears, Montana seemingly had no piercings or tattoos which was a good thing, I hated body piercing and excessive ink especially on very young women. I had previously seen Montana's midriff when she was helping her fathers in the garden and her tee-shirt rode up, and her naval was also unblemished by piercing.

Montana had an unusual way of dressing, and she had no end of clothes that seemed to take me back to the 1990s. She wore patched jeans, overalls both long and short, stirrup pant leggings which I hadn't seen in years, long floral skirts and baby doll dresses, complete with a white tee-shirt and cute white ankle socks and sneakers. When wearing her hair in a pony-tail, Montana often tied it back with a scrunchie.

However, it was the school uniform in which Montana was attired today that I found the sexiest. This was a blue blouse and a blue jumper if the weather was warmed, a blue tartan skirt that came to just above the girls' knees and white knee-length socks with black Mary-Jane shoes. I felt bad perving at Montana in her school uniform when I was a high school teacher myself, but was unable to resist it. Montana's big teenage boobs filled out the front of her uniform, and I wished sometimes we would get caught in some sort of time warp that kept us in the year 2015 forever and she would never have to graduate high school and I could enjoy the hot 18-year-old in her school uniform for years to come.

"So, how was your day today, Jeff?" Montana asked cheerfully as she opened the letterbox and took out an electricity bill.

"Pretty good thanks Montana," I said. "How about you? I see you have a chauffer service home from school today."

Brad and Will joined us, both of them laughing. They both had a great sense of humor and in fact outside of work were in an improv-comedy club in Carlton. It was all a lot of fun and I think it rubbed off on their daughter, who was a self-confessed theater kid at school, in all the productions and could also sing and dance.

Montana laughed along with her fathers. "No, we all needed to have dental appointments. So Dad and Dad got out of work early, I had the afternoon off and we all went to the dentist and had coffee afterwards. The dentist I saw was very impressed, I have nice shiny teeth, see."

Montana flashed her teeth, and they were indeed nice and shiny, a perfect set of teeth on a girl who was perfect in every way.

"The pretty young dentist was very pleased with my teeth too," said Will, a tall and skinny man with blue eyes. Of Montana's two fathers, he was the more camp of the two, very flamboyant and over the top. One knew instantly he was gay. "She said my teeth were fabulous and gave me special sticker for being so diligent with my dental hygiene and for being such a good patient."

We all laughed as Will proudly displayed a sticker featuring a cartoon tooth, toothbrush, bottle of mouthwash and dental floss, all getting an A plus that was usually given to children after appointments.

Brad spoke up. Like his partner he was tall but more an athletic build, and had brown hair and brown eyes like their daughter, although given Montana was adopted this was a coincidence. Montana's looks gave away an Eastern European origin. Brad didn't have these features, and wasn't camp gay like his partner. If meeting him for the first time one would get the impression that he was homosexual, and not surprised when it was confirmed he was gay. Then again, if it turned out he was married to a woman and perfectly straight, it wouldn't surprise either.

"So, my husband gets a pretty young female dentist and her even prettier assistant who give him stickers about how good his teeth are," said Brad. "Our daughter gets a handsome young male dentist and another pretty assistant for her appointment who praise her perfect teeth. And who do I get? Claude, the grouchy old septuagenarian dentist who grumbles and grunts through the whole appointment, and the old battle-axe assistant who sits there looking like she's sucked lemons and limes the whole day."

Brad rubbed his teeth. "Old Claude was pretty rough with the scale and clean today."

Again all of us laughed, and we had a neighborly chat about work, school, the weather and football, before Brad, Will and Montana went back inside and I finished the last of my raking before Libby got home, which probably wasn't long now. The afternoon had gotten pretty windy, and as Montana walked down the driveway between her fathers to my delight a gust momentarily lifted the hem of her tartan schoolgirl skirt, showing me that underneath the teenager was wearing white knickers.

The moment was fleeting, but filled me with excitement at seeing the young girl's white panties if only for a few seconds. It had me feeling like I was floating on a cloud, and what had been a bad day wasn't so bad after all.

*

The day went back to bad when my wife's car pulled into the garage, and her slim, fit, five feet six body entered the house. I was afforded a curt hello and a single word answer 'fine' when I asked her about her day, no asking about my day, no kiss. Her first action was to change out of the skirt, blouse and sandals she had been wearing today and into a fitness top that showed her ample cleavage, black lycra leggings that accentuated her toned bum and through which one could see the outline of her vagina and panty lines as she bent over and on her feet, socks and sneakers.