Escort

The extreme answers to my questions were easy. I could either divorce her or I could forgive her. Neither alternative seemed acceptable. Divorce would devastate my family and I might lose the day-to-day association with my children that I valued so highly. But how could I just forgive such egregious behavior? I couldn't.

It was after 1AM before I returned home. The house was dark. Deanne was in bed. If we had a guest room, I would have used it, but we didn't. I made my way to the master bedroom and stripped down to my underwear. Deanne seemed to be asleep. I slipped into bed on my side with my back to her. I felt her touch my shoulder and I pulled away. I heard her sniffle but she didn't try to touch me again.

I was frustrated because I didn't have a good solution to my problem. I didn't even have a marginal solution. There wasn't any solution. I was once told that the source of frustration was the inability to make a decision. However, time provided an alternative.

One of the reasons I married Deanne was her effervescent personality. She was a naturally happy person and it was pleasant to be around her. While I grappled for a solution, she returned to her pleasing disposition and easy manner. She was alert enough to know not to crowd me. I made no effort to be affectionate to her and she made no effort to force her affections onto me. Around the kids, we appeared to be the normal caring parents they were used to. Other than that, I was quiet and withdrawn.

Once, I heard Deanne on the phone with Dionne. I couldn't be certain what they were talking about so I imagined my worst fear. I asked her what she had talked about. She said nothing important, but I knew she was hiding something. I told her very directly that my imagination tells me that you are talking about your experiences and adventures with various men you had both fucked while you were whoring yourself out in Dionne's place. She didn't deny it. I told her if she wanted to talk to Dionne, don't ever do it while I'm around. It was my point of view that Dionne was responsible for everything that happened.

However, as time went on, our interaction became more normalized. We talked about most things; work, the kids, the weather, etc.; as we had in the past. I spent as much time as possible with my kids, and Deanne left me to interact with them. After they were in bed, we would settle into the family room to watch an hour or so of TV. We had our favorite programs that we enjoyed together, or we took turns selecting a movie for the evening.

Weeks passed and then months. Gradually, we began to interact together more and more. Many of our activities centered around the kids and their interests; sports, picnics, hikes, the beach and similar events. Eventually, I noticed that Deanne had subtly began to become more affectionate. When we were admiring our kids, she would take my hand. While watching TV, she would sit close to me. In bed in the mornings, I would find her curled up to me.

The events that occurred in California became more obscure as time passed, and my wife reminded me more and more of our happy life before that time. I found myself putting my arm around her as we watched TV. I guess Deanne sensed that I had put much of my hostility behind me, because one morning I woke up to Deanne giving me a first-class blowjob. I started to push her away, but she told me to just lie back and enjoy it, which is what I did. Still, she didn't force herself back into my graces, but she did become more touchy-feely. One night after we were in bed with the lights out, she started kissing my ear, which she knew was a turn-on for me. Soon, we were French kissing and then the kissing extended down to her breasts. I didn't realize how horny I had become. One thing led to another, and before long, we were fucking like there was no tomorrow. It had been so long for me that I went wild. I fucked her once and then I fucked her again. Deanne relished our coupling and said over and over, "I love you, Russel. I love you so much." When she said that in the morning while we were coupling again, I answered, " I love you, too."

After almost six months, our marriage seemed to be back on track. I forced the events in California to the back of my mind, although I hadn't forgotten nor forgiven her for her transgressions. I wanted my family back enough to bury my pride and move on.

We were so happy just being normal for the next few months that I had confidence I could spend the rest of my life with my wife without difficulty. Then, it all went south again.

It happened about six months after our relations had normalized. It was a Friday and I came home to find Deanne was cooking one of my favorite meals. She informed me that she had taken the kids over to my mother's home for the weekend. The dinner table was set with candles and a bottle of my favorite dark red wine was open and breathing.

After dinner, I was pretty much mellowed out, but with the idea that I was going to get laid that evening. I settled in our leather sofa, ready for Deanne to join me in a cozy embrace before turning in early for some fun in bed. Deanne finished the dishes and joined me in the family room after dimming the lights. For some reason, she didn't sit next to me but rather sat on the edge of the sofa at the other end.

"Russel," she said, "you know I love you more than anything, don't you?

It was a strange question, and considering her rather formal position on the sofa, it was beginning to seem like a strange situation.

"Yes, I know," was all I replied.

"Honey, I have something to tell that's going to be uncomfortable for you to hear. I don't want you to get angry, but rather listen to what I have to say before you react."

The hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I was not so sated with good food nor plied enough with good wine that I didn't recognize a difficult situation developing.

"This sounds like a 'Honey, we have to talk' talk", I said, sitting upright and turning to face her.

"Russel, I want to be an escort," she said matter-of-factly.

"What did you say?" was my only answer to the incredulous statement I heard.

"I'm going to be an escort," she said.

I was alert enough to note the slight change from what she initially said. Her second statement was far more assertive than her first.

"Over my dead body," was my first actual response to her pronouncement.

"Please, Baby," she said. "Listen to me for a minute."

"This has been on my mind for months. The few weeks I spent with Dionne in California made an indelible impression on me. You knew that I liked the experience, even though I regretted the fact that it hurt you so much and it damaged our marriage and our relationship. The truth is that I loved the experience... and the sex. I never got over the adventure of the encounters I had."

"Wait," I said, "You promised you would never do anything like this again. You wanted nothing more than to be a normal housewife and mother."

"I know what I said, Russel," she answered, "and I meant it at the time. But I never completely put those days behind me. Dionne seems to have so much adventure in her life compared to me. Don't get me wrong, I love having a family with you and my babies, but I want more and I believe I can have both."

Before I could say anything, Deanne went on. "I have already applied to an escort agency in the city and they have accepted me. They believe there is a niche market for a model my age, someone who appeals to an older group of men who would not be comfortable being seen in the company of a twenty-two-year-old college student. It is the same niche that Dionne is popular in.

"Over the next week or so, I'm going to get some mandatory agency training; personal hygiene, personal financial services, personal security, grooming and makeup and more. Tomorrow morning, I'm getting my hair styled before going to the agency office for some glamor shots they will use on the internet."

"I won't put up with this, Deanne," I said when she took a breath.

"Oh, Baby," she said and tried to touch my face. I brushed her hand aside. "I know this is a shock and I can't imagine how much it hurts. But you will get over the hurt, I know you will. You did it before. That's what gives me the confidence that I can do this and we can still be a loving family.

"You've overestimated what I can deal with, Deanne. I won't be a cuckold again. I couldn't face my children knowing that they would regard me as less than a man. I would lose their respect. I would lose respect for myself."

"Russel, you're being too hard on yourself. You're letting your ego get in the way of our happy family."

"Deanne," I said emphatically, "you totally under-estimate the value of a man's ego to him."

Then, she hit me with a Mac truck. "You don't want to end up like Gary, do you?"

Now I became physically angry. I clenched my jaw and glared at what had been the woman I loved. "Is that a veiled threat, Deanne? Are you telling me that if I divorce you for being a slut that you will take custody of my kids, that you will remain in the house, that I'll be paying alimony and child support, that I'll end up in a two-bedroom apartment somewhere hoping to see my children every other weekend? Is that what you mean to say?"

"Please, Russel, don't be like that. I don't want a divorce, and I know you don't want to be separated from your babies. You just have to understand that this is something that I have to do, at least for a while."

"And how long is 'a while,'" I asked. "A year? Two years? Five years?"

"I guess until I get it burned out of my system," she answered.

"And then you're going to become my faithful, loving wife again? I think I've heard that before."

"I don't want to make a living at it, Russel. I wouldn't be going out two times a week like Dionne has to in order to make a living. I know we don't need the money. It would only be once or twice a month after I was able to establish a reliable clientele like Dionne did. You would hardly notice. The rest of the time, I would be devoted to you and your happiness."

"You're delirious, Deanne, if you think I would be happy with a whore as a wife.

Deanne reacted angrily as she always did when I referred to her a whore or prostitute.

"I told you before, I'm NOT a whore! I'm an escort. There's a difference."

"Deanne," I said. "If you take a shovel full of horse shit and put it in a shoe box and then gift wrap it and tie a pretty bow on it, it's still horse shit when you open it up.

"You are right about one thing, though. You're not a whore or prostitute. They do it for money. You, apparently, are doing this for the fun of it. That really makes you a slut. I don't want to be married to one of those either."

"I know you're angry with me right now, Russel, but you,ll change your mind, just like you did before. You'll forgive me. I know you love me, just as I love you. And this is going to work out for both of us. Just wait and see."

"You've misjudged me again, Deanne. I never forgave you. What's more, I was a fool for not kicking you to the curb when this happened in California. I won't make that mistake again.

"I'm going for a walk," I told her. "Don't wait up."

The dreary night seemed almost friendly. The mist and light drizzle matched my mood.

This walk, like the one I took following disclosure of Deanne's escort activities the previous year, gave me time to think. The last time I had the choice between divorce and forgiveness. This time the choice was between divorce and divorce. There were no other alternatives. The only question was, how could I come out of this and avoid all the negatives? A straight-forward divorce would almost certainly put me in a position similar to Gary's. I wouldn't mind that except for the kids. I would not be separated from my babies. The question then became, what do I have to do to keep them. As things stood now, Deanne was considered an ideal mother. The courts would never grant me primary custody of the kids under the present circumstances--even considering her new avocation. The question then became, what did I have to do to change the circumstances? That question led to the answer: Deanne would have to be discredited as an ideal mother. In fact, she would have to be proven to be unfit. That led to the final question: how do I do that?

This line of reasoning didn't happen in the space of a few minutes. It took hours. It was past 2AM before I returned home. I didn't bother to get into bed with Deanne. I went to Emily's room, climbed out of my clothes, and lay down in her bed to sleep. Getting as far as I did in my reasoning was satisfactory, I thought, for the present. I slept well until early Saturday morning.

I was up early, before Deanne. Since we didn't have a true guest room that I could move into, I inspected the storage room in the basement. The large basement actually had its own entrance: a set of stairs that made it a walk-up basement. The outside door opened onto a small unused patio. For years we used it to store what had become junk over time. With a little work and a little money, I reasoned, I could turn it into an efficiency apartment. I spent more than an hour taking measurements and making rough drawings.

When I came upstairs, Deanne was making coffee. She poured me a cup and said, "I missed you in bed last night."

I took her cup of coffee and replied, "I'm never going to sleep with you again."

"I know you're still hurt, Russel, but after the kids return, there'll be no other place for you to sleep."

I let her know my intentions. "I'm going to clean out the basement and fix it up as an apartment. Meanwhile, I will just camp out down there with a cot and my sleeping bag."

"That's just silly," she said. "You belong in bed with me."

'Not any more, I don't," I said as a simple reply.

"I'm confident you'll change your mind eventually, Honey. But do what you have to do for now."

With that, Deanne finished her coffee and went upstairs to get ready for her hair appointment. I caught sight of her just as she was leaving. She was carrying a hang-up bag with several dresses in them and a separate bag of shoes. I surmised the clothes were some that Dionne had given her and they were going to be used in her photo shoot.

For my part, I spent the rest of the day hauling boxes of stuff we never used out of the basement and to the curb. I called We Haul Junk to come get the stuff, and by the end of the day it was gone. Meanwhile, I contacted a friend of mine who was a contractor and told him what I had in mind. He came over in the afternoon to inspect the basement. I told him what I wanted; a new vinyl floor, a new ceiling with two overhead fans with lights, a walk-in closet, built-in cabinets, shelves and a small bathroom with a walk-in shower. About a third of the basement would be divided off for storage of junk that was still useful to us. The contractor estimated a price for me and I agreed to pay it. He, in turn, said he had a team free that could get right to work.

My kids, of course, wondered why their daddy was not sleeping with their mommy. As diplomatically as I could, I explained that mommy and daddy had a disagreement and that we decided to sleep apart for a while. Both Deanne and I tried to reassure them that our differences had nothing to do with them, and we both still loved them as much as ever. As before, when we were with the kids, we did a good job of being civil and feigning affection for one another. Actually, Deanne took advantage of our time together with the kids to touch, hug and embrace me. It was me who feigned affection.

In two weeks, my basement apartment was done. I invited the kids down to see what I had made of the basement and they approved. Further, they adopted what was the small family room with the TV as their preferred place to hang out.

They were in the basement on Friday evening when I came up to start dinner. Just as I entered the kitchen, I heard Deanne coming down the stairs. I went to the foyer to ask her if she wanted anything for dinner. Deanne was dressed to kill. She had on a black wrap-around cocktail dress that only went down to mid-thigh. The dress had a plunging neckline that easily showed off the tops of her breasts. She wore four-inch CFM heels. Her make-up was flawless and she was wearing bright red lipstick that matched her nails. It was the sexiest she had ever looked--and the sluttiest.

"I won't be having dinner at home tonight," she said, "I have a date. I will probably be out very late so don't wait up for me."

I looked behind me to make certain the kids had not come up from the basement behind me. None had. I turned my attention and my anger toward Deanne. I grabbed her upper arm and pushed her up against the door. Then, I put my hand on her throat to hold her there. She started to scream but I put my hand over her mouth and shook my head left and right, indicating that she shouldn't make a sound.

I leaned in to her ear and said, "Don't you ever again dress like this in this house. Don't you ever allow my kids to see you like this. If you are going to dress for your John before you fuck him, do it somewhere else. Get your own apartment or dress at a girlfriend's apartment. Dress in the car if you have to, but never here, never again. Do you understand me?"

Deanne was scared. She hadn't ever seen me this angry before or this violent. She shook her head to indicate she understood. I took my hand from her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Russel," she said with a raspy voice. "I didn't mean to be so oblivious to your feelings. I didn't know you would mind this..."

I didn't let her finish. I opened the door and pushed her onto the porch. I picked up a tote bag she had been carrying and threw it on the ground behind her before slamming the door in her face and locking it. I turned off the porch light. Through the cut glass of the door, I could make out her figure. She stood on the porch for a few minutes. She may have been dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, I wasn't certain. After a few minutes, she left.

Unfortunately, my plan to discredit Deanne as a mother had to be a long-term plan, probably lasting about a year. During that time, I would have to live with her and the shame of being a knowing cuckold. I would do that if that is what it took to divorce Deanne and keep my kids.

I developed a plan, of sorts, to render Deanne an unacceptable parent to have custody of children. For it to work, I needed three gigolos to pose as clients who wanted to date Deanne. I knew Deanne was essentially researching prospective men for her stable. I needed three men who were good-looking, had great bodies, who knew how to please a woman, and appeared to be very wealthy. My intention was to encourage Deanne to select these men as part of that stable of repeat customers.

The internet was my jumping off point in my search for male escorts. Typically, they featured attractive younger men in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties--too young. I needed men who were in their fifties and, maybe, their early sixties.

Another problem with male escorts was that they were expensive. They operated through an agency just as the women did, and they commanded fees that were excessive from my point of view, although not as expensive as female escorts.

I had to rethink the problem. I needed another source of partners for Dianne. Male escorts and gigolos were too expensive. What I required was male porn stars--older, retired, male porn stars. I didn't have the slightest idea of where to get them. Then, I thought: I'll visit one or more of the gentlemen's clubs downtown. There, perhaps, I could get a lead or make some contacts.

On a Friday night that Deanne had a 'date,' I called in our babysitter to watch my kids and then I went downtown to see what I could find. My intention was to check out the most prestigious of the clubs first, ask a few general questions and form some opinions about how to locate the men I wanted.