Cheating on a Cheating Wife

I returned the pads to their bags and thought up a solution. The library had a unisex toilet, and obviously a sanitary waste bin. I had to go into the office this afternoon for a meeting, I would stop at the library on the way there and put them in the disposal bin for used female products.

Driving to the library later in the morning, I walked into the unisex toilet and closed the door. Lifting the top of the feminine waste bin as I had a piss, I disposed of Libby, Montana and Bailey's period pads and sighed in relief. Any slight chance I could be busted for my period perversions were reduced to zero.

*

It was raining by evening when I watched Montana and Bailey now home high school leave for their part time jobs at a sandwich shop at the local shopping center. The two teenagers looked so cute in the shop uniforms -- a blue tee-shirt, black trousers and shoes, blue peaked caps on their heads as they got into Will's car and Montana backed it down the driveway, her P plates displayed.

The customers who would be served this evening by the pretty teenagers this evening, the brunette with her long brown hair back in a braided plait and the cute redhead with her hair in pigtails would have no idea that the two girls were on their periods, unlike me thanks to my perversions.

I wished I could be one of the customers going into the shop this evening not only to perve on Montana and Bailey but to purchase a tasty sandwich to eat for my tea, but it was not to be. My wife had banned me from that shop and all other fast food shops across the entire state of Victoria. Libby came home and gave me my dinner -- a casserole of strange vegetables possibly suitable for patients recovering from cancer, followed by a pear for dessert. Yum, what a treat!

Saturday was a bit gloomy across Melbourne but most of the rain cleared and it was a Libby-free day for the most part. Libby, Todd and squad in tow, left early in the morning to go down to Geelong where Libby was doing book signings at a book shop in Geelong's main shopping precinct.

I liked Geelong, Victoria's second largest city about 100 kilometers away located on Corio Bay and despite the presence of Todd, would have liked to have gone with them. There was plenty I could have done around Geelong while they were busy at the book store. But it was not to be.

Libby wanted things done at home this Saturday, and had left me a list of instructions, so I had to stay back in Melbourne. It was the same when Libby and her squad went interstate for health and fitness expos in other capital cities. For example, this coming Wednesday morning Libby and her team would be flying to Adelaide with her team for a South Australian fitness expo over the weekend and some media and book signing commitments, returning Tuesday morning. I would have loved to have gone, but Libby clearly didn't want me to go plus work would have been a problem in any case.

The only time I had accompanied them was a similar trip to Hobart last year. Libby was in a shitty mood -- and it wasn't even period time -- clearly thinking I was in the way the whole time. More likely she was pissed off because she wanted to screw around with Todd, and with her husband there it limited her opportunities for infidelity. If up to Libby, she probably would have packed me on a bus to Launceston in northern Tasmania so she could do whatever what she wanted with Todd in Hobart.

Today, would my wife give Todd a blow job during their day trip to Geelong? From what I knew of Libby, probably. Although still menstruating, it was now the second half of Libby's period so her cramps had subsided and she would be more open to sexual things.

Saturday morning was laundry door, not only for me but for Montana as well. As usual, I hid in my upstairs study, peeping through a small gap in the blinds as the young girl pegged her bras and her knickers on the washing line. I took note of the colors and designs of her underwear, before Montana took the basket and went back inside the house.

Of course, Saturday morning was also shopping day, and I timed my trip to the mall hoping coincide with Brad, Will and Montana being there. Would BFF Bailey be there too? I was indeed there at the same time as my gay neighbors and their teenage daughter, but Bailey did not tag along today. Also they were talking to some of their other friends, so I didn't want to interrupt and gave them a polite wave before going on my way.

Back at home later in the morning, I set to work cleaning the pool. It was near the neighbors' fence, close enough for me to hear one of the occupant's telephone conversations. Was it Will? How about his partner Brad? No on both counts. What about their cat? No, because the cat was strictly an indoor cat and presumably did not know how to use a telephone, either a landline or a mobile phone.

So who was it then? One thing about almost all teenage girls is that they love talking on the phone. Listening in to teenage girls' telephone conversations was quite easy in the 1940s and 1950s -- not that I was around back then -- and could be achieved by eves-dropping to their calls on the party line. In the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s and 1990s it was more difficult, with young girls in those decades tying up landlines.

In the 2000s however mobile phones became more common for teens, and by the 2010s a teenage girl without a mobile phone would be about as rare as a teenage girl without a vagina. Mobile phones meant girls could take their conversations outside into gardens, and could be overheard by nosy neighbors.

I listened intently as Montana spoke on her phone, making plans with her friends for Sunday morning. I scooped some autumn leaves out of our pool and smiled. I knew what my own plans for Sunday morning would be. That's if Libby was open to my idea to turn them into reality.

*

"I still don't know about this, I've got a stack of work to do and I fly out for Adelaide on Wednesday morning," said Libby.

"Well, we're here now," I said, parking my car and turning off the engine. "I really want to treat you to a nice brunch honey, you deserve it given how hard you work. Plus like you said you'll be in Adelaide for nearly a week, and it's been ages since we've gone out anywhere as husband and wife."

"The reviews for the restaurant were okay," said Libby as she climbed out of the passenger seat, still looking at her phone. "And the kilojoules on their menus seem acceptable enough."

I stepped out of the car. "I'm sure you'll love it, I'm sure I will too. And it's such a nice day." I sniffed the air. "Such beautiful sea air."

Our destination this Sunday morning was Williamstown, one of Melbourne's gentrified western suburbs. I checked the scenery as I walked along the foreshore holding hands with my wife. Across the way was the Westgate Bridge spanning the Yarra River, through the masts of the yachts moored at the marina across Port Phillip Bay to the Melbourne City skyline. Further south were the wharfs of Port Melbourne with a number of ships docked, and beachside suburb of St Kilda, the pier visible on a fine day. Seagulls swirled overhead in the sea breeze, emitting their shrill cries.

Libby, in a white top that showed her ample boobs, black leggings and white sneakers, her hair up in a pony-tail looked pretty hot. But I suspect my wife would have preferred to be elsewhere, or if she was here, would have preferred to be walking hand-in-hand with her lover Todd than me.

As soon as we reached the restaurant a short distance away -- an ultra-healthy café -- Libby grabbed her phone and was her usual pain in the arse whenever we ate out. The café was busy but Libby insisted on going through how each dish was prepared with an overworked young male waiter, using a calorie counting app on her phone to ascertain how healthy each of the items we were both about to have for brunch were, before snapping her fingers at the waiter to place our order.

Then as we were waiting Libby spent most of the time on her phone, 'phubbing' me and giving me one word answers if I talked to her, irritated that I had broken her concentration. I wondered who Libby was communicating with online, maybe Todd my wife certainly was audacious enough to do that while her husband was treating her to brunch. However it may well have been her female friends, colleagues or members of her family, I couldn't really be sure.

The food arrived and to my relief Libby had no complaints, my wife notorious for sending any dishes that had even the most minor problem with them back. However, we did encounter one problem with the other end of Libby's digestive system when having finished brunch, she excused herself to go to the toilet and change her tampon, although obviously she didn't express the latter aloud.

The café had one unisex toilet, and Libby went in there, then within seconds came out again, going to the counter. I quickly found out what the problem was, when the manager brought my wife a new roll of toilet paper, which she took and returned to the toilet.

That my wife had been inconvenienced by finding the bathroom with no toilet paper to wipe her bottom did amuse me, but it probably didn't amuse a teenage boy who waited outside the bathroom most of the five minutes Libby was on the loo. No doubt the youth was relieved when he heard Libby flush the toilet, wash her hands and emerge, but when the boy went in there afterwards he was in there less than 30 seconds, before hurrying out looking traumatized.

While I paid the bill, I noticed that the young man now sitting at his own table with his own family was casting puzzled and dismayed glances at my wife, no doubt wondering how such a pretty blonde woman's shit could stink out the toilet so badly. 'Try being married to her, kid,' I thought sarcastically.

Libby was again completely absorbed in her phone as we had a walk after brunch. Had my intentions for taking my wife out to brunch been 100 percent honorable, then I would have been irritated by her rudeness. But for once, Libby was a pawn in one of my games. I had an agenda and as we strolled through the busy seaside suburb, the agenda -- a certain young brunette - came around the corner with her friends.

Montana smiled when she saw us and gave a wave, and I returned the gesture. "Hi Jeff, hi Libby," she said.

"Hi Montana," I said, trying to conceal my excitement. "What a coincidence, all of us being in Williamstown at the same time."

"Yes, it is isn't it," said Montana. "Such a nice day for it, we caught the train down here."

"Hi Montana," said Libby.

"Hi Libby," said Montana in response. "I haven't seen you for a while, not to speak to anyway. How are things?"

"Pretty good thanks, Montana. Jeff just treated me to a nice brunch, so a good day," said Libby. "How about you?"

"We're just on our way to lunch now," said Montana, indicating her posse of friends.

"Oh Mrs. Larsen, my Mum said thank you again for autographing your latest book," said Bailey.

"Thanks Bailey, and please call me Libby," said my wife. "I hope she's enjoying trying out all the recipes."

Pretty redhead Bailey nodded in agreement. "Yes, Dad's sort of her guinea pig, and he's loving it. He's lost ten kilograms, has taken up running again for the first time in decades and says he's feeling like a 25-year-old again."

This stroked Libby's already considerable ego. "That's so great to hear Bailey," she said.

Growing up, we had kept guinea pigs and rabbits as pets and they would no doubt have loved my wife's food filled with vegetables. I rarely saw Bailey's dad, a portly sort of guy and I couldn't imagine him liking anything my wife cooked, but obviously he did, his teenage daughter had said so.

With such praise, Libby was more gracious and chatty to Montana, Bailey and their friends from school -- both girls and boys - than she otherwise might have been. They were the 'theater kids' of their high school, and were having a day out to work on learning their lines and stage directions for the upcoming school musical.

We stood conversing before we wished each other a good day, going in opposite directions; Montana, Bailey and theater kids to find a place for lunch, Libby and I for a walk around Point Gellibrand ahead of returning home.

As we got into the car, I thought about how great young Montana's bum looked in the long floral skirt -- another throwback to the 1990s or early 2000s -- she was wearing today. So much so that I was glad to be sitting in the car, as within seconds I had an erection standing up like the enormous grey chimney with a red and white top that dominated the skyline in the industrial western suburbs of Melbourne.

Libby seemed to notice nothing. Her running shoes were new and she was wearing them in, so she removed these and her socks and put her bare feet up on the dashboard for the drive home, wriggling her toes as she absorbed herself in her phone.

Looking at my wife's bare feet, I thought no doubt Todd would be sucking on Libby's toes in her hotel room in South Australia this coming week. But I was too overcome with triumph at my planned chance meeting with my secret crush working out to worry or get jealous about dickhead Todd fucking my wife.

It wasn't the first time I had set up a 'chance meeting' from overhearing Montana's plans for the day when talking on her mobile phone. It hadn't started this way. When Libby had gone to the Australian Capital Territory's fitness expo in Canberra earlier in the year (with lover boy Todd of course) back in Melbourne I had gone to St Kilda Beach for an excursion. I was just walking by Luna Park when from around the corner who should appear but Montana with her two fathers.

Brad and Will had invited me to have lunch with them which I did, and I felt so elated by this genuine chance meeting that I could not resist planning a visit to the Melbourne Zoo when Montana's class was having a trip there, meeting her and Bailey in the reptile house. And having heard Montana, Bailey and their friends planning a Saturday morning trip to the markets in South Melbourne, who had already arrived two hours beforehand walking around Albert Park Lake in nervous anticipation? And who was browsing around the market stalls when the girls turned up, and amazed to see them? It was me of course, filled with delight at my 'chance encounter' with the object of my affections.

Sometimes it didn't work out as I planned. For example when I heard the girls were going to Prahran one Saturday afternoon I spent the better part of three hours in the crowded, trendy-old style suburb but failed to catch sight of the girls at all. And another time some students from another school from the Victorian-New South Wales border were visiting over the long weekend and Montana, Bailey and some other students were showing them around Melbourne. This included trips to the Melbourne Aquarium and the Eureka Tower observation deck in the city. I was tempted to turn up at these tourist spots, but resisted the urge because it might look a bit obvious to be somewhere so specific, plus timing would be an issue.

So with today having worked out so well, I was most pleased how the trip to Williamstown had gone, and with Libby there too it didn't look suspicious. Plus Wednesday would be the start of five Libby-free days. Sure, my wife would plan out what I would do each day while she was away, she would still be in contact by phone and there was the small matter of Todd inserting his penis into Libby's vagina while they were in South Australia, but at least my wife wasn't there in person to bust my balls.

*

Wednesday was an early start, with me driving Libby to the airport to catch her flight to Adelaide. The plane was leaving at 7 am, and given that we lived in Melbourne's eastern suburbs and the airport was at Tullamarine north of the city, we had to set off well before dark.

I looked at Libby as she sat in the passenger seat, texting on her phone. Given my wife's period had finished on Monday and that she would be away for the better part of five days that Libby might make herself available to me yesterday. However, the only time my wife's knickers came down was when she needed to sit on the toilet, and most of her time was spent setting out five days of frozen healthy meals, along with an exercise timetable and chore schedule for me to follow while she was in South Australia.

"When you buy beer on Saturday, I want you to buy this brand," said Libby, holding up her phone so I could see the image of the beer. "It has no alcohol, and close to zero calories."

I was concentrating on the traffic on the Tullamarine Freeway, so only glanced at the image. Drinking this type of beer looked about as appetizing as drinking my own piss, but I didn't argue with my wife. "Yes Libby."

"Good because you still haven't shifted that kilogram I told you to," said Libby, with me having been subjected to a spot weight check by the missus yesterday, Libby dismayed that I still weighed in at 71 kilograms and hadn't gone back to 70 as yet.

"I promise I'll try harder," I said.

"Glad to hear it Jeff," said Libby. "Because do you know how fucking embarrassing it would be for me in my position and my brand to have a fat husband? It is so selfish of you to let yourself go."

Perhaps because she couldn't nag me in person until next Tuesday -- although she could nag me on her phone when interstate and Libby had proved that plenty of times -- Libby spent the rest of the long drive to the airport nagging me about a variety of things. If only my wife had known that on Friday that I had gotten my rocks off smelling not only one of her dirty period pads but the soiled sanitary napkins of the pretty girl next door and her equally hot redhead BFF then she would really have something to nag me about, rather than her typical carping criticisms in the car.

We finally arrived at the airport, and I made my way to the drop off zone at the Domestic Terminal. I helped my wife get her things out of the car, and we exchanged a hug and kiss. "Have a great time in Adelaide Libby, wish I was coming with you," I said.

"Yeah," said Libby indifferently, her attention immediately going to a taxi bay where a cab pulled in and who should step out but a certain tall and muscular young man very familiar to me.

I felt like a friend-zoned nerd at a high school or college frat party who was talking to a pretty cheerleader only for her to rush off mid-sentence when a handsome jock entered as my wife rushed up to her younger lover, gushing all over him, she and Todd heading into the airport together where some of the other squad were waiting for them to check in for their flight.

I don't know what was worse, that my wife left without a backward glance in my direction or that Todd looked at me with that smug, smart-ass expression as we exchanged a curt nod that clearly read, 'I'm getting into your wife's pants as much as I like the next week, and there's not a fucking thing you can do to stop me.'

Driving back to my house, the Melbourne City skyline looked pretty in the distance with all the skyscrapers lit up pre-dawn and a full moon high in the sky, but I was in a pretty grumpy and jealous mood during the journey, thinking about Todd banging my wife in South Australia, yet paradoxically secretly wishing I could watch them in their hotel room. Plus I was also a bit envious I didn't get to go as I loved Adelaide anyway.

The traffic was a bit busy around the airport and the roads that led into the direct factory outlet shops in the area, but through Essendon it cleared and I had a better run for a while on Citylink. However I got caught behind an oversized load where a front-end loader, a steamroller and a bulldozer where being transported on huge trucks with an escort, some other large tip trucks as part of the procession, and had to wait until they exited just before the Bolte Bridge, seemingly headed for one of the construction sites in the Docklands.