tagLoving WivesI Hate Social Media

I Hate Social Media


Let's be honest; one reason why Ellen's cheating twisted my tail so bad is this - not once did I cheat on my wife during the fifteen years we were married. There were plenty of opportunities; I'm a decent looking guy, keep myself in great shape and make good money. Most of you know that's like putting peanut butter on a mousetrap; if you're looking to score there are plenty of single women, and a few married ones, who will come sniffing around. But not once - not during the six months of celibacy when Ellen was having a problem with the second pregnancy, not during the seventh year of our marriage (yes, the seven-year itch is real), not when the cute blond in Marketing practically threw herself at me during an out of town training session - did I succumb to the temptation.

Which brings us to today; me sitting in a lawyer's office waiting for my soon to be ex-wife and her attorney. Waiting to find out how much this will cost me and how often I get to see my two children.

This madness started two months ago when Elle (Elle is my nickname for Ellen, a term of endearment I need to stop using, it will take time) went to visit one of her college roommates. Janet Morris had been badgering Elle to come visit her in Los Angeles. Janet laid it on thick, last year Janet divorced her second husband and wanted, or needed, Elle's company. Elle was off for the summer, she teaches second grade, our two children we're old enough and were signed up for summer activities, so Elle ran out of reasons to avoid the visit to the west coast.


I didn't like Janet much; we dated briefly my junior year of college. Two months of dating convinced me the relationship was going nowhere. She seemed upset by the breakup, but not any over the top, 'Fatal Attraction/Play Misty For Me' upset. We occasionally saw each other on campus and she seemed friendly. Once she introduced me to her new roommate, Ellen. Ellen and I shook hands and smiled. I was instantly attracted to Ellen, but didn't pursue it, given the circumstances. A month later I graduated and never thought about it while trying to make my way through the labyrinth of a 'Big Six' (at the time) accounting firm.

Everything changed a year later when I ran into Ellen at a Grant Park concert. I recognized her, a 5'7" svelte blonde beauty, Ellen was and still is, a woman that stands out, even in a large crowd at dusk. I made my way over - fortunately, she was with girlfriends and not a date – I re-introduced myself and we began to chat. Ellen told me Janet had gotten married and moved to LA.

That was all I needed to hear; I asked Ellen for a date, she said 'yes' and nine months later when I asked her to marry me, she said 'yes' again. The wedding was wonderful, Janet was at the wedding and despite her being there with her husband, I couldn't help but get the feeling she was pissed at me. And the way she treated the poor mope of a husband reaffirmed that I dodged a bullet when we broke up. It was no surprise when Elle received the phone call a year later and heard Janet was getting her first of what would be two divorces.

Ellen and I had fifteen years of a good, maybe great, marriage. I already mentioned that we have two children; Kaley is thirteen, Kyle is ten. They're good kids; just the right amount of rambunctiousness to know they have a decent chance of making it in this crazy world. Elle loves her job and always seemed happy with me. If I had to point out one flaw of Elle's, it would be her abnormal jealousy. Elle's father was a womanizer and left Elle and her mom when Elle was twelve. The asshole ended up living with the mother of Elle's best friend; it was twisting the knife after plunging it in their hearts. Elle's mom never recovered, never dated, died a bitter woman at fifty; Elle may never have recovered either. Almost all our serious arguments were after some drunken female tried to flirt with me at a party. My suggestions Elle get help fell on deaf ears.

Her typical response, "Why should I get help? If you keep your nose clean and your hands to yourself, we won't ever have a problem."


Elle booked the flight to LA; leaving Friday morning and returning Monday evening. The kids and I dropped her off at Midway and headed home for a night of pizza, sodas and action movies. It was a good night – until it wasn't. That night the call came in at 11:45 our time.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Elle, what's wrong? You sound drunk."

"Tell me, Doug. Who the fuck is Sacha Gardner?"

My mind reeled; I tried to think. What could I say to de-escalate this situation since Elle didn't sound rational and she was a couple thousand miles away?

"Elle, I don't know anyone named Sasha. What are you talking about?"

"Well, she damn well knows you! She has photos of the two of you all over her Facebook page. How could you make such a mockery of our marriage and our family?" Elle hung up.

I tried calling back, but of course, no answer. What to do, what to do?

My first thought was to hop on a plane to LA. No; I needed more information. Facebook? I've never been on Facebook. What was that woman's name? Sacha Gardner? I wrote everything down on the pad next to the phone and logged onto the computer. I googled Facebook, then went to their website before realizing I was totally out of my element.

It was 12:15, but I was desperate; I knocked on Kaley's door. Nothing. I knocked on the door, a little louder. Kaley came to the door.

"Dad, what is it?"

"Kaley, I need your help; it's important, otherwise I wouldn't wake you."

There was fear in her eyes. "Dad, is Mom all right?"

"Yes, but she called ranting about someone on Facebook. I have no idea what's going on. Can you please help me?"

What did I say about having great kids? Kaley grabbed her robe and walked into the den to sit down at our computer.

"What's the person's name. If their Facebook page is public, we'll be able to access it; we'll need to be her 'friend' if it's private."

I gave Kaley the name Elle had spoken and held my breath.

"Here it is. Awww, Dad!"

I looked over Kaley's shoulder at the screen. The image there was something out of a nightmare. There I was, with my arm around some blonde woman's shoulder; both of us smiling at the camera as if we were the best of friends, or worse yet, the happiest of lovers. It took at least a minute to find my voice.

"Kaley, I have no idea who this woman is. I've never seen her in my life. I have never cheated on your mother. How can this be? How can they do this?" I was practically stuttering.

Thank goodness for the relationship I have with my daughter. I could tell she was skeptical, but she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

"Dad, I have no idea how this is done, but I have a friend who might. It's the middle of the night; we'll call Brian first thing tomorrow and ask him. I'm going to bed, you should, too."

"I'll go to bed, but fat chance I'll fall asleep. You didn't hear your mother. She thinks these photos are real."

Kaley went back to bed, but not before printing out Sacha Gardner's complete page. I sat up in bed and read the entire thing. It was filled with a multitude of events we had done together. It hinted at our intimate relationship that had yet been consummated. At one point I physically pinched my own arm to make certain it wasn't a dream. No such luck; I was awake and reading about a secret life I didn't know about.

At ten there was a knock on my door; I must have dozed off.

"Dad, Brian will be here in thirty minutes."

I got up, brushed my teeth and splashed water on my face. A change of clothes - I actually slept in my clothes last night - brewed a pot of coffee and was ready when the doorbell rang.

OK, my life might be circling round the drain, but that didn't mean I lost all my marbles. Standing on my porch was this tall young man who my daughter obviously knew well enough to get him up on a Saturday morning and hustling over to our house. I looked out onto the driveway.

"I don't see a car; did you drive over?"

He smiled. "I wish, I'm only fifteen; not old enough to drive. I took my bike."

I followed his eyes. Just to make certain he meant bicycle, not motorcycle. There was a nice Trek sitting against the garage. One bullet dodged; what were the odds my luck would continue?

Brian turned out to be a well-mannered kid, without the whole Eddie Haskell aura. He accepted a cup of coffee before sitting in front of the terminal.

Ten long minutes later, he finally looked up at me, he took a sip of his coffee before speaking.

"You're saying it's not you in the photos and you don't know this woman?"

"Absolutely!" I even crossed my heart to emphasize it.

"Do you know anything about Photoshop?"

"I know it's software used to enhance photographs. A couple of my friends at work are into photography, they showed me how they changed the effects; changed a photo from color to black and white, things like that."

"Did they show you how to cut and paste?"

"No; I do that with Word when I'm editing documents. What does that have to do with photographs?"

"Same concept, Mr. Harris. Only with Photoshop I cut out someone's head and paste someone else's on the body."

"Shit! So, what you're saying is this Sacha did that to make it look like we were in these places together?"

"Most likely. The thing is, we don't even know if this Sacha is a real person. Just like the sleazebag perverts sitting in their mothers' basements pretending to be young girls. The web is a wild west show, few controls, little oversight. That's what makes it exciting, but dangerous to naive users."

"So, what do I do?"

"Sorry Mr. Harris. This is all beyond my expertise. If I were you, I'd get in touch with some experts at tracking this woman down. I doubt Facebook will be much help; they'll claim privacy, etc. No way you or I could get past their gates."

I almost slumped in my chair. I knew there were people at the office that could steer me in the right direction, but that would have to wait until Monday; I didn't have their personal contact information. In the meantime, Elle was pissed at me and still refusing to take my calls. (I found out much later Janet was the reason my calls never got through to Elle, she blocked my number on Elle's phone. When I tried calling the number I had for Janet, that was blocked, too.)

Once more, I considered flying to LA, but didn't, hoping somehow that Elle would call us and this would all get squared away. If I knew then what I know now, I would have taken the flight; but hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

At nine-thirty that night, I finally got a call from Elle.

"You fucking bastard!"

That's all she said, then the line went dead.

I pounded my fist into the nearest wall and put a hole in the plasterboard. Who the fuck cares? I cursed our decision not to allow Kaley or Kyle to have their own cell phones; Elle would have picked up for the kids – I assumed, but this was more second guessing.

I walked outside to catch my breath when I heard Kaley screaming inside the house. I rushed in, running around until I found Kaley in front of the terminal.

"Dad, look at this!"

Kaley was on Sacha Gardner's Facebook page. Today's post read:

"Today was the best day of my life. Doug's bitch of a wife is out of town and we finally consummated our relationship. The photos I have are too risqué to show here, I'd get kicked off Facebook if I showed them. The same goes for anything I could relate regarding today's 'afternoon delight'. No words could justify the feelings, spiritually and physically, that were shared with my man Doug today. I know I'm in love and if Doug's words are any indication, he loves me, too."

I looked at Kaley. "Now you have to believe me. You were with me all day. Someone is trying to cause problems between your mother and me. I just don't know why – yet."

Kaley grabbed my phone and dialed. My number was still being blocked, but Kaley began yelling at the phone in desperation. "Mom - call me, please! Please mom, call me." Kaley was crying and sobbing as she looked at the phone; waiting for it to miraculously answer.

Kyle came downstairs; he'd been in his room playing some game on his Gameboy, but the shouting finally roused him and he walked into the den to find his sister crying on my chest. Without getting into details, I gave Kyle an overview of tonight's event. Kyle took the typical pre-teen's view of things; not understanding the deeper implications.

Kyle went back upstairs to his room, Kaley fell asleep on the couch, and I sat like a zombie waiting for something. At 11:00 I carried Kaley to bed, just like I used to do when she was a little girl. I went back to the den and sat staring into space.

When it came at midnight I didn't understand why; it was all so evil. Why did life need to be so difficult? I received the first of seven photographs, all from Janet's phone. The text accompanying the first photo read, "revenge is so sweet". The photo showed my wife Elle in the arms of a large man; they were kissing.

Twenty minutes later, in the second photo, Elle and the man were both naked. His hands were on her breasts, hers on his large erection; the text read, "she's very wet, he's very hard".

I almost threw away my phone at this point, I probably should have because these images continue to haunt me. But like a witness to a train wreck, I looked when the third message came in five minutes later.

He was on top of Elle now. Her legs were wrapped around his thighs, her hands on his arms, clawing his biceps as his ass clenched, his obscenely large, dark cock was pressed against the entrance to Elle's womb. The text read, "almost there".

There was no mistaking what I was looking at in the fourth photo. Elle was kissing him, her toes curled as her feet pulled his ass closer in, making certain his complete length was buried inside her womb as far as it could go, the grip on his arms emphasized her need to feel him completely as they both came. The text read, "she's no longer yours".

I put the phone down and am embarrassed to admit, I wept. This was the end of my marriage to the woman I considered my best friend, soulmate, confident, my everything.

As I sat there staring into space, mourning the loss of my marriage, my phone kept pinging, announcing the receipt of the last three photos. I didn't look; I'd tortured myself enough.

Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. Photoshop! The pictures of me with Sacha were fake. These photos had to be fake, too!

I started to laugh in relief. That's it! These don't prove a thing, no way my Elle would do this to me, to us, to our family. What a relief!

The fifth photo was a shot of the two lovers recovering side by side. Still no proof it's really Elle. The sixth and seventh photos were like a suffocating wall of dread passing over and dropping on top of me; smothering the last embers of love.

In the sixth photo Elle had her head covering the man's lap, his cock close to her face as if she's about to take him in her mouth. Still not conclusive, except it was the first photo to show her left hand. On her finger was the ring I gave her on our tenth anniversary; the one-of-a-kind ring made to replace the quarter-carat ring I gave her when we got engaged.

The last photo removed all doubt. Elle was sitting cowgirl on top of the man, his cock obviously once again inside what had been my exclusive territory. On Elle's left back hip was the final nail in the coffin containing my marriage. Let me explain.

Last year, Kaley was beside herself, she just had to have a tattoo; all the girls at school were getting one. Elle finally came to a mutual agreement with her. Kaley could get a small tattoo, it had to be small, in a discrete, yet non-sexual part of her body, and it had to be tasteful. After many long discussions, Kaley decided on the Chinese character for 'family'. Elle got so involved in the process that she decided to have the character for 'faith' tattooed to her back hip. It was a true mother-daughter bonding moment.

The woman riding the man had the tattoo of 'faith' on her back hip. How ironic, the character for faith was proof my wife was unfaithful.

When Kaley woke up Sunday morning she found me on the couch still staring into space. I'm certain I dozed off a few times; but woke constantly whenever my dreams replayed those images.

"Dad, what is it? You look like hell."

I just looked up at Kaley before answering; she grabbed for the phone in my hand, but I didn't let her have it. No way would my children be haunted by those images, even if their mother was a cheating slut.

"Your mother decided to seek revenge on me last night. Her friend sent me photos, I'm not going to share them, but you need to know there's no getting past this. Your mom and I will be getting a divorce."

Kaley started to cry, that brought Kyle into the room and when he heard the news, the three of us were crying. Sunday was a very long day.

Although the kids weren't up for it, I convinced them to attend their respective summer camps on Monday. I had work to do, to include following up on what Brian told me Saturday morning. My first stop was the IT guru at the office. After I gave him a censored version of the situation, he gave me the name of a guy nicknamed 'the dark knight' who had the skills and temperament to chase down this Sacha and find out why she was doing this. Was she getting paid by Janet? Is she someone from my past that I pissed off?

By 2 PM I was meeting with this dark knight and after giving him the full scoop and a check for two thousand dollars, had his assurance he'd know everything within a few days.

Ellen's plane was due to land at 6:30. I sent her a text that I wouldn't be picking her up and to take a cab. She still wasn't answering my calls, so I didn't know if she would get the text, but didn't give a rat's ass.

The kids and I were sitting in the family room watching some teen-angst show when Ellen walked in the front door at eight. Neither of our children bothered to get off the couch to greet her. Ellen seemed stunned at the cool reception and couldn't hold her tongue.

"Why the hell didn't you pick me up or at least call to tell me you weren't coming?"

I almost broke out laughing, but held off. "Check your phone, I sent a text, not to mention the umpteen times me and the kids tried to reach you all weekend."

"Bullshit. None of you called and you sit there like lumps when I get home. The only reason I came home is because of the kids and this is the reception I get from them?"

I was starting to wonder who kidnapped my wife and replaced her with this shrew. "Better check your phone; we've been calling you all weekend and you've never answered your phone."

We watched Ellen grab her phone. "I checked it when I put it on 'airplane mode' before I boarded and after we landed. There aren't any calls."

Kaley grabbed Ellen's phone and checked. Here's your problem, Mother; you have Dad's cell and our home phone blocked. That's why you never received our calls or Dad's text."

Ellen was dumbfounded. "I didn't do that! How could that happen?"

I replied, "Better check with your good buddy Janet. I think she set you up."

"But why would she do that?"

I was trying my best to hold it together, inside my head I was screaming, "So she can whore your ass out!", but because the kids were sitting there, I merely said, "Don't ask me, better ask Janet."

Ellen looked stunned. She picked up her travel bag and headed to the bedroom. It took her five minutes to notice my things were gone from our bedroom. She came back into the family room.

"Doug, where are your clothes?"

"In the den, I moved my stuff out this weekend."

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byBillandKate© 131 comments/ 43863 views/ 63 favorites

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