I Hope You Fuck Better Than You Lie

I Hope You Fuck Better Than You Lie

byEphesus14©

Another re-post of a previously deleted story

There are lots of people who think, or even dream, about owning their own island someplace. Most of those dreams seem to center on the warm water in the Caribbean, or South Pacific.

Gananoque is a small city on the St. Lawrence River in Ontario, Canada. It is in what is called "The Thousand Islands" area. Lots of people, both Canadian and American, live on those habitable islands in the region. Not that some of these islands don't compare to the ones in the Caribbean or South Pacific because some of them have real, honest to goodness castles on them. Dollar for dollar, the Thousand Islands can compete with any other islands in the world; they're just in the St. Lawrence River and not in the tropics.

The most popular story about the thousand islands involves the salad dressing of the same name. It seems that a housewife in the region developed the condiment. It was later given to the proprietor of a well-known New York City Hotel, who had it put on the hotel's menu way back around 1890. There is no written proof that the story is correct, however.

I drove a truck for a living. We delivered to the forty-eight contiguous states and Canada. I drove for a medium sized company of about 100 trucks. All of the drivers had the option of either driving long haul, regional, or local. Whenever any of us went out for a long haul of a week or longer, we had the choice of staying local for a week so we could spend time with our families or we could go back taking long hauls. We could also take our wives with us on the road occasionally. Most trucking companies that cover the whole country and Canada leave their drivers on the road for weeks at a time.

There are several jobs that are hard on families. The military is probably the worst followed closely by trucking and law enforcement.

I worked in construction during my summers through high school so it was a logical step when I started working in it full time after I graduated. By the time I was 23, I was a pretty decent carpenter. When I was 19, I met an office clerk in a commercial bakery. Her name was Julie Simpson. My name is Scott. Scott Mann. Julie and I married when we were 21. We were both happy until the banking system and, consequently, the construction industry, suffered some major losses.

Julie and I talked and decided I should try driving a truck. They made decent money, and the biggest downside was the time they had to spend away from home.

The company I drove for advertised they would pay your way through truck driving school if you worked for them for a year after you got your license. Julie and I discussed it and decided we'd go for it.

They accepted me and I started school. Three weeks later I had my Class A CDL. The following week I was put in a truck with a driver trainer. He was an experienced driver who took guys like me on the road to really teach us how to drive. It was one thing to drive a tractor pulling an empty trailer, but something completely different when you hooked that tractor to a loaded trailer, and you went from weighing thirty-five thousand pounds, to weighing eighty thousand.

I was scheduled to spend five weeks with my trainer, but he convinced the safety department that I was good enough to have my own truck at four weeks.

I would drive over the road for a week, then drive local for a week. It worked fine. I had arranged for Julie to go in to the office on Friday and pick up my paycheck. That worked out pretty well also. We could have our checks direct deposited, but Julie enjoyed getting it herself.

I had been with the company for about nine months and was just finishing my week of driving local. My dispatcher, Shirley, called me in and offered me a pretty good deal. We had a load going to Vancouver, Canada and a back haul to Montreal. Only it wasn't really to Montreal. It was to Gananoque.

The owner of the company recently bought one of the thousand islands. He was incredibly young to own a trucking company. He couldn't have been much more than six or seven years older than me. The island, Shirley told me, had two houses; the main house and a guest house. The owner and his wife wanted to furnish the main house with handmade furniture from Vancouver Island. The guest house came furnished.

My job, if I wanted it, was to take a load to Vancouver then backhaul the boss's furniture. It wasn't expected to be ready for another month but it would be ready by the time I got there so the Operations Department of the company decided to surprise the boss and have it delivered early.

"Now the deal is this. You can't tell anyone. Not even your wife. I'm not saying she would say anything, but she comes in for your paychecks and she might say something to the wrong person. The boss and his wife will be there the weekend after next. That should be about the time you get there assuming you get to Vancouver and they get you loaded to come back. Does that sound like something you would be interested in?"

Before I could answer she jumped in.

"Remember, if you take it or not, you can't say anything to anyone. Promise?"

"I'll take it and promise not to tell anyone."

"Good. Good. Now because you took it, and because I like you, did you see that brand new Peterbilt sitting in the yard?"

"I certainly did."

"Well, it's yours. Put your gear in it. The load you're taking is on trailer 2353, you can leave in the morning. Call me when you get to Vancouver and be safe."

I went home and told Julie that I had a trip to the west coast. She didn't mind because the money was good, but we both were going to dislike my being gone for almost two weeks.

To make up for it, we tried our best to fuck our brains out. Fucking Julie was always special. She was up for anything except anal. Neither of us cared for that, but we both really loved fucking. Right after I started driving a truck, we took some nude pictures of her for me to take in the truck with me.

I had been to Canada in my truck four times. Each time, the truck was searched, and I mean searched. The only place they didn't search was the pouch hanging off my seat the first time I went across the border, and her pictures were in that pouch. I left the pictures at home after that when I knew I was going to Canada. The other times I went, they never missed the pouch or any other part of my truck including under the mattress in the sleeper berth. I left the pictures home that trip.

The drive out was easy. Crossing the border was standard. The Canadian officials, as always, were nice, but absolutely thorough when they searched. I called Shirley. She told me the boss's furniture was ready to be picked up. They had brought it over from the island earlier that day in preparation for my being there.

When I got to my customer, it only took an hour to unload me and another hour to get to where I was going to be loaded. Loading the trailer took considerably longer than an hour because they loaded each piece individually then wrapped and secured it. My truck was fully loaded when I headed back east. I dropped back down into the States and headed east across Interstate 90. I went back into Canada at Detroit.

It was about a nine-hour shot from Detroit to Montreal. I drove to Kingston and parked for the night and called Shirley. She told me that the boss was at the island and she had a barge already set up. I was to go to the commercial loading dock as soon as I could get there in the morning and they would unload the trailer and take the furniture to the island.

I was there at six and it took until almost ten to load the barge. It took about 45 minutes to get to the island. It was a straight shot, but the barge had to go slow. I went to the guest house to surprise the boss. The island was covered with trees. I only knew my way to the housing compound because of the path. There was a small patio attached to what I assumed was the guest house. Not too far from the guest house was the main house. It looked huge. I saw the boss on the guest house patio. I walked up and he was rubbing something on the naked chest of a woman who was lying on a lounge chair. I assumed it was sunscreen he was applying and I further assumed the woman was his wife. As I got closer, I could see that it could have been sunscreen but it wasn't his wife. It was mine. She was naked. I watched as one of his hands went from her chest to her pussy and seemed to disappear.

I walked up to them and cleared my throat. They both jumped and turned to me. It took them a second or two to realize they had been caught. He didn't know me from the man in the moon, but she did.

I looked at him. "They're bringing your new furniture up from the dock." Then to my wife. "You might consider putting on some clothes before they get here."

I turned and headed back toward the dock.

I didn't hear a single word from either of them.

I passed the men bringing up the first of the furniture. I made it to the dock before remembering I was on a fucking island. I looked around and saw four boats tied up. We heard that the island came with some boats so I assumed they were all his. I had never driven a boat, but that was going to change. I had watched enough TV and movies to know that boats had a throttle. Push and you go forward. Pull and the boat goes in reverse. I also knew that boats didn't have a brake pedal but I'd figure that out later. I looked in the smallest boat but there was no key in the ignition. There was a board on a wall with what looked like boat keys with rubber balls attached so they wouldn't sink if they fell into the water. I grabbed all of the keys and jumped in the boat. The key that fit it was the second one I tried. I tossed the rest in the river rubber balls or no rubber balls. The engine started immediately, but the boat was still tied up. I jumped out, untied front and back, jumped back in the boat and pulled back on the throttle. The boat launched rearward and left the dock pretty fast. As soon as I was clear of the dock, I jammed the throttle forward and got thrown back in my seat.

The trip back to town only took about 15 minutes. I approached the city dock way too fast and did some damage to the boat as I hit the dock. The engine was still running as I jumped out. There was a lot of attention being paid to the boat as I climbed in the truck, threw my stuff together, got out, and headed for town. I looked back and saw the boat idling down the river with no one in it.

A taxi got me to the city of Kingston and its' airport in pretty short order. The first plane out was leaving in less than an hour and it was going to New York City. I bought a ticket.

My phone had been ringing and I looked to see it was Julie. She left one message. "Call me, please."

I called Shirley. "Good morning, Scott. Did you make it?"

"How long, Shirley?"

"How long what?"

"How long has he been fucking my wife?"

"What are you talking .... On my God. She's there?"

"She's there all right. How long?"

"About three months. I'm sorry, Scott. His wife was supposed to be there, otherwise I never would have sent you."

"So you would have sent me someplace knowing the boss was fucking my wife. Who else knows, Shirley?"

"Only two of us. Joey and me."

"Thanks, Shirley. Thanks a lot."

"Wait, where are you? What are you going to do? Hold on, he's on the other line. I'll be right back."

"Fuck you." Now I knew why she didn't want me to tell Julie about the trip. She would have told Bradley and there would have been no surprise ... especially the one he just had.

It was a small airport and I could see everything and everyone coming and going. I kept looking for either her or him to come charging in, but they didn't.

The flight didn't take any time at all. We landed, I rented a car and drove the four hours home. She wasn't there.

I hadn't stopped thinking about what I was going to do the whole trip home.

My phone rang again and she left another message. "Scott, if you're home, I'm on my way. Please don't do anything until I get there and we can talk. We've never had sex, Scott. We just played a little. Please believe me."

Her nipples were hard as rocks and he had his hand up her pussy to his elbow and they never had sex??? Jesus Christ. She honestly couldn't think I was stupid enough to believe that. Could she?

At our apartment, I loaded my pickup with everything I wanted and I went to the terminal and calmly walked into operations. Both Shirley and Joey were there. After they saw it was me, neither of them looked at me.

"How much money do you owe me, Shirley?"

"Scott, I."

"Cut me a check for everything the company owes me. Now."

"I'm sorry, Scott. Mr. Bradley said to not give you anything until he talks to you."

"Shirley, you owe me. Big time."

"He said you wrecked one of his boats."

"What else did he say? Did he brag about fucking my wife behind my back? Have the four of you had big laughs at my expense? Did Julie come in here and tell you to keep me out on the road as much as you could so she could fuck Bradley? Cut my check, Shirley, and I won't destroy this whole fucking office." It only took her a couple of minutes to figure out how much I was owed and she called payroll and told them to cut me a check."

I walked out and went to payroll. They had it ready for me. I looked at it. "I changed my mind. Direct deposit it please."

"But Scott."

"Direct deposit. Now, please." I gave them my routing numbers and they did it. Bradley couldn't stop payment on a direct deposit. Then I went to Bradley's house. We had been there once for a picnic. My wife had probably been there for more than picnics. Mrs. Bradley opened the door. She looked and acted like she was sick. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"My name is Scott Mann and I used to drive for your husband. I took a load of furniture to your island this morning and I discovered your husband massaging my wife's naked breasts with one hand while he was playing with her pussy with the other. I just thought you'd like to know. Have a nice day."

"Wait a minute, Mr... what did you say your name was?"

"Mann. Scott Mann."

"What's your wife's name?"

"Julie Mann."

"You saw it this morning?"

"With my own eyes."

"You're positive?"

"Christ, lady. Of course I'm positive. Do you think I'd make up something like that about my own wife?"

I walked to my truck and drove off not having any idea where I was going, so I headed to my parents' place. It didn't take long to get them up to speed. Mom always had a pot of coffee ready and offered me a cup. I took it. Before long I was stretched out on the sofa. I closed my eyes. The next thing I knew I heard my father speaking.

"Julie, get off of my porch or I'm calling the police."

"But I need to talk to Scott."

"After what you've done to him?" Dad asked. "Absolutely not."

"But he doesn't understand."

"Oh, I think he understands all too well. You've been sleeping with his boss for three months. What's so difficult about that?"

"But, he doesn't know why."

"Sure he does. You're a cheating bitch that's why. Now get off my porch."

She started yelling my name. "Scott, talk to me, please. Scott, give me a chance to explain, Scott. Scott?"

It had been a long day and I was soon back asleep.

I was awake early the next morning and went to my truck. I had no idea where I was going, but I had to go somewhere. I opened my door to get in and Julie was sleeping across the seat. She sat up when she heard the door open. I started to leave, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Please, Scott. Listen to me. I had no choice."

"Don't give me that shit. You either spread your legs and fuck someone or you don't. Unless you were restrained and raped. Were you, Julie. Were you restrained and raped? Or drugged?"

"It wasn't like that."

"So you fucked him willingly." It was a statement not a question.

"Scott, just give me a chance."

"I repeat. You fucked him willingly."

"Okay, I fucked him, but ..."

"Besides that, you lied. 'We've never had sex. We just played a little.' Christ. Did you really expect me to believe that? Get out of my truck." She wouldn't budge so I took her arm and pulled her out. I was in it and gone before she could get her ass off the ground.

I drove to a fast food restaurant in town for breakfast. I ordered one of their breakfast items and went to piss while I waited.

I took my food to a table, sat, and ate. When I was finished, I went to the bank and divided our money. My phone rang repeatedly and several people left messages. My former employer, Ernest T. Bradley, left two.

"Call me and let's talk or I'm going to sue your ass for wrecking my boat and then you're going to jail for threatening my employees and don't think I won't do it." Was his first message. "Listen, I fucked your wife. Get over it. It happens every day. She's not the first wife I fucked and she won't be the last. Swallow your pride, take her back and fuck her silly. That's what she likes and wants so give it to her. If you don't, maybe I'll keep doing it. Now, get your ass back up here and get my truck home or I'll report you for stealing it. Besides, you have to drive for me for three more months to pay for your truck driving school." Was his second message.

God, what an asshole. So he was still in Canada. I called his wife to see if I could meet with her instead of just rushing to his house like I did before. She agreed, and I played his messages for her. She was sick before, but she felt worse after she heard him.

"I wasn't sure I believed you at first, but now I do. I'm going to burn his ass. May I have a copy of that message?" We made her a copy. "What are you going to do about your wife?" she asked.

"Divorce, of course. I just don't know how to go about it."

"It's easy," she said. "Find a good attorney and turn him loose."

It sounded so simple. I left her house and went back to my parents. They, also, asked me what I was going to do. I told them the same thing I told Mrs. Bradley. My father, in turn, told me word, for word, exactly what she told me. I was convinced, so I started looking for an attorney. Again, I had no idea where to start so I started with the "A's" in the phone book. I made it to the D's before I found my man. David Denison and I hit it off immediately. His family had all been truckers, himself included, until he flipped his rig and was paralyzed from the waist down. He completed law school in a wheel chair.

He was the only member of his family not in the trucking business, but they all knew Ernest T. Bradley, and respected him. Denison commented several times on Bradley's youth and business acumen. In fact, everyone who knew him respected him. He was huge in the community. He sponsored sports teams as well as art programs and donated to every charity that came down the pike.

Denison flat refused to believe me when I first told him what I had discovered in Canada. He was in Bradley's corner and I was almost ready to leave and find another attorney but decided to play the messages for him. He finally started to believe.

"Wow. This is going to shake up the community if it gets out. How do you want to handle it? As privately as possible, or do you want to make a big splash?"

"All I want is a divorce as cheaply as I can get it. It never has to reach the newspaper as far as I'm concerned, but the reason for the divorce will be adultery. If that means it gets splashed all over town, so be it, but there will be none of this mental cruelty or irreconcilable differences crap. She cheated and it goes on record.

"That could be difficult if this message is all you have. Courts almost demand visual proof nowadays, especially with a man of his stature."