It’s Easy To Spot A Cheater

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You don't need to be rich to expose and jettison a cheater.
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amyyum
amyyum
1,750 Followers

There are several common signs of cheating that do not require the services of a Private Investigator, HD cameras, or voice activated recorders to determine or confirm. If you are a perceptive female your sixth sense and a little leg work are all that are necessary to spot and expose a cheating husband.

It's lucky for me, Jeanette, that you don't usually have to spend big bucks to track down a cheater because I'm just a poor working girl, who at the start of this story made $11.50 an hour performing tasks significantly below my intelligence level.

Trent and I have been married for five years, and dated two years before that. I know him well. He was not the ideal husband, I was not the model wife, and we didn't have the perfect marriage; but we did better than most. Our most frequent real arguments – just like for 27% of married American couples according to a 2012 survey conducted by the American Institute of CPAs – were about money, and we talked to each other about money (even if we didn't argue) at least once a week, just like 71% of married American couples do. I didn't like the fact that he made $19.75 an hour yet we saved almost nothing, and he didn't like it that I wouldn't find a job paying me more than $11.50. We lived more modestly than either of us would have liked.

Actually, I could have gotten a job with the same company that would have paid me as much per hour as Trent was making, and my boss had encouraged me to take it. My boss, William Masterson, is in charge of everything except financial matters at my employer. He is normally a crusty old codger, but for some reason has really taken a shine to me. He told me on several occasions that I remind him of his granddaughter, who he infrequently gets to see; yet he can smile at my looks and fantasize about me because I'm not really his granddaughter. He has always been encouraging to me and I think that normally my job would have paid less than $10 an hour but I got a "friendly" bonus. I treat him very nicely, including bringing him homemade cookies whenever I bake them, and I'm one of only several employees who call him "Will" instead of "Mr. Masterson."

There were two problems with taking the higher paying job that Will had offered me on several occasions, however.

One problem was that the guys who worked in that department hit on me all of the time even though where I worked was far away from their offices, and I couldn't imagine what it would be like there every day. You see I have what I have often been told is a world class ass and pretty face, and it wasn't conducive to staying true to Trent to constantly be hit upon especially since a number of the guys in that department are single and good looking.

The second problem was that I would have to work fifty hours a week at a more challenging and stressful job. While the money would be great – especially since everything over forty hours was time-and-a-half – that would leave less time for Trent and me.

To get back to my problem – unexplained expenditures are one of the signs of infidelity. Apparently Trent thought that I was too stupid to figure out where he kept the bills for the one low credit limit credit card that we had, and he was too stupid to buy everything he didn't want me to find out about with cash. The unexplained purchases were evident from the last two credit card bills once I suspected him.

More significant in tipping off Trent's infidelity were his changes in behavior. Leaving me love notes when he never had before; giving me flowers (not purchased, obviously stolen from a neighbor's garden); on a regular schedule working manual labor projects in the next town over yet coming home clean and fresh; and introducing changes into the bedroom while at the same time that his frequency of seeking my pussy had decreased.

To be honest with you, I was pleased that instead of being solely a "missionary man" who avoided oral genital contact, in the last two and a half months before I suspected him enough to investigate he had vigorously fucked me doggy, fingered my ass, and eaten me to several orgasms. He was also more appreciative when I sucked his cock, and I thrilled him by cleaning it off with my mouth when he gave me an especially nice doggy style fuck while simultaneously fingering my asshole. However, I didn't like getting fucked only twice a week instead of the four times that I was used to.

I asked my boss, Will, for an advance on a project that no one else was interested in doing so that I was able to have a little money – just $200 – to finance my own stealth investigation. He just gave me the money, "no need for a loan as long as you do that project," was his cheery response.

I took the day off on one of Trent's "out-of-town" sojourns and borrowed a friend's car since we only had Trent's pickup and he needed it for work; I had a short bus ride to work.

I parked outside of the warehouse where Trent works and when he left at lunchtime, obviously having spiffed himself up in the locker room, I followed him. It wasn't hard because there are few traffic impediments in our small city, and he wouldn't have recognized my borrowed car even if he was perceptive enough to sense that he was being followed – he wasn't.

The asshole picked up his honey in front of a townhouse in a "declining" area of town. I recognized her immediately. Lizzy Burns, a big-titted bleached-blond slut a year younger than I am who I went to High School with and who I never got along with. Even though she didn't live in a trailer to me – and virtually everyone else in school – she was "trailer trash."

Trent and Lizzy zealously swapped spit in Trent's pickup and then drove to a local bar that also served food. I recognized the name – Samantha's Bar & Grill – from the last credit card statement. The jerk was dimwitted enough to pay for their lunch with our credit card.

After about an hour the assholes came out of the bar arm-in-arm, played a little more kissy face, and then drove to the townhouse where Trent picked her up. They walked together from the truck up the wooden flight of stairs to her townhouse, with Trent occasionally grabbing one of her big tits along the way. I took a number of photos with an inexpensive, but decent resolution, camera that I had gotten as a graduation present from High School six years ago. When they disappeared into the townhouse I had seen enough; I noted the time and went back home.

I had two things to figure out. One, did I want to stay married to the asshole? Two, how could I get revenge on the piece of trailer trash? I wasn't going to go off half-cocked, and since I didn't have the money to mount a really sophisticated campaign, or strike out on my own, I had to be clever and patient enough to come up with a workable plan.

They say that the brain is the most important sex organ. I believe it since once Trent's dalliance was confirmed I lost interest in sex with him, and when we had it I didn't receive the pleasure from it that I used to. I faked orgasms for the first time in my life since I didn't want him to get suspicious – I wasn't going to make the mistake of changing my behavior like he had.

After three more weeks I had determined several things. I had no interest in staying married to Trent; I didn't want our friends or families to see me as the "bad guy" in the breakup; I wanted the bitch to pay even more than ever; and I had to get myself in a better economic position.

Without telling Trent, I accepted the more stress, higher pay, position at work. Since it was a position that had not been filled for more than a year, except by temps who didn't work out, my boss Will was thrilled that I agreed to take it. He was so thrilled that he gave me a couple of future concessions, important to me to implement my plan.

It was difficult to live with Trent while saving enough money to start life on my own, and bide my time until the lease that Trent and I had jointly signed on our apartment was up. It took three months, but it was finally time to execute my escape and revenge strategy.

During those three months I had found out that I was really good at my new job, my boss was extremely pleased not only with my work but by the fact that the morale had improved in the department I worked in and productivity had increased twenty percent, and since I wasn't worried about staying true to Trent over the long term getting hit on by, and flirting with (which, along with my short skirts was the main reason that morale had improved) the guys in the new department not only didn't bother me but made me feel good.

Making my revenge plan doable was the fact that except for the size of her tits – probably a D or DD while mine are a B – Lizzy and I are almost the same size. She is about an inch, maybe two, taller than I am but our shoulders, waists, and bone structure are roughly the same. Our faces aren't close, and I'm a brunette, but a mask and bleached blond wig are not difficult to come by. She also has a very distinctive dragon tattoo on her right forearm which was pretty clear from one of the photos that I had taken of the "happy couple."

It only cost me about $280 bucks to buy a blond wig, mask, specially made temporary dragon tattoo, fake gun, Salvation Army slacks and short sleeve top that looked like Lizzy's the day that I photographed hear, a DD bra and falsies, and a pair of Salvation Army shoes with lifts. All were purchased with cash. It cost me another $100 to rent a motorcycle – not from a rental store but from a shady acquaintance – for a day.

On a day that I confirmed that Trent had one of his "out-of-town" jobs I made arrangements with my boss for my "concessions." I carefully applied my temporary dragon tattoo to my right forearm, put on my work clothes including a long sleeve top, collected my purchased items and put them in a small duffle bag, and went into work that morning. I made sure that everyone in my department knew that the boss and I had to make a trip to a vendor that afternoon, and just before lunch changed my clothes in my boss's office and put my work clothes in my duffle bag, left through his private entrance, and rode my motorcycle to a location near Lizzy's townhouse.

Right on schedule, Trent arrived at Lizzy's. This time they didn't go to lunch but he went right into her townhouse – using a key. I could see them embrace through a window. I then took off.

I pulled up behind a bank about a mile from Lizzy's townhouse, put on my mask and wig, and with exposed tattoo-bearing right forearm, and purchased top, slacks, shoes with lifts, and bra with falsies, went into the bank. I showed a teller my fake gun, got just one bag of money with the bank's name on it, and quickly took off on my motorcycle.

Per my arrangement with my boss Will he picked me up at a location about a mile from the bank on the opposite side of it from Lizzy's townhouse. I knew that I could count on Will not to ask any questions, and to tell anyone anything that I asked him too. The old codger got a nice treat by looking in the rear view mirror as I stripped out of my get-up, including bra with falsies, and put on my regular bra and work clothes that he had brought with him in the back seat of his car. After I changed we went to see the vendor together. I disposed of all of my purchased items, and even the duffle bag in case it had traces of the wig or other things, in a black trash bag in the dumpster in back of the vendor's plant. I washed the temporary tattoo – covered by my long sleeve top – off in the vendor's washroom.

When we were finished at the vendor's facility, Will dropped me off at the motorcycle, but we went back to the office at the same time. When "Mr. Masterson" and I returned to the office we made a point of walking into my department together and talking with one of the guys about our meeting with the vendor and the price concessions that we had negotiated.

In the middle of the night I snuck out of our apartment, rode the motorcycle to Lizzy's neighborhood, and stuck the bag of money from the bank in a protected location underneath her wooden stairs. I then dropped the motorcycle off at the acquaintance's house without talking to him, and walked home. I never handled the bank bag except with a latex glove on my left hand.

The next day the cops got an anonymous phone tip, from a public phone miles from my home and office, about who the bank robber might be. Of course I don't know exactly what transpired, but I do know that about nine o'clock that night there was a knock on our apartment door. I said "I'll get it Trent."

When I opened the door there were three cops; two male plainclothesmen, who showed me their badges, and a woman cop in uniform.

"Detectives Simon and Kent, and Officer Bagley, here, "Detective Simon said while flashing his credentials. "Is Trent Williams here?"

"Why yes he is, detective. I'm his wife Jeanette. Please come in."

I ushered the three cops into our living room and shouted to Trent in the kitchen, "Trent, there are three policemen here to see you."

Trent came into the living room with a surprised look on his face and mumbled "Hi; why do you want to see me?"

"Are you Trent Williams?" Detective Simon asked.

"Yes..." Trent hesitantly replied.

"Do you know a woman by the name of Elizabeth Burns?"

Trent's face immediately turned red. He tried not to be too obvious but nervously glanced in my direction before stammering "I think that I do – why do you want to know?"

"We've arrested Ms. Burns for armed bank robbery for a heist of the Second National Bank on Oakdale Street yesterday, and she maintains that she didn't do it and that you're her alibi."

"Uh, well, ah," Trent fretfully mumbled while I intentionally glared at him. "Is there someplace we can talk about this in private?"

"What the fuck for, Trent?" I asked with a real attitude. "Answer the fucking question!"

Trent looked more nervous than I had ever seen him. He again glanced over at me but avoided eye contact. It was clear that he was having a meltdown; seeing that Officer Bagley said "Maybe you and I could go into the kitchen for a minute or two, Mrs. Williams.

"No way!" I shouted. "Lizzy Burns is a piece of trailer trash that we used to know in High School but that I haven't seen since then, and I want to know why in the fuck she's using my husband as an alibi for a bank robbery!"

"Look, Jeanette, honey, it's not what you're thinking," Trent stuttered, still not making eye contact.

"What am I thinking, asshole?" I screamed and then started to berate him. The cops could tell that they were not going to get anything out of him with me there so Detective Simon interrupted my tirade, calmed me down and then said "Mr. Williams we're going to take you downtown to interview you."

Trent looked relieved. As the four of them exited our apartment I called out things like "Is his statement to you a public record – can I get a copy of it? Tell me when the robbery was and maybe I can tell you if he's lying," and other fun things to raise the pressure on my soon-to-be ex-husband.

I was asleep long before Trent returned home. His rustling around woke me up enough to look at the clock – three fourteen a.m. I smiled to myself thinking about how miserable the last six hours had to have been for him. I immediately went back to sleep wondering if he did provide an alibi or denied knowing her. I wondered if he was smart enough to know that if he provided an alibi and they still thought that she was guilty that they might think that he was an accomplice.

The next day was a Saturday. When Trent finally got up about eleven a.m. I was fully dressed and waiting in the kitchen.

"What did you tell the cops, Trent?" I asked without emotion.

"Look, Jeanette," he hesitantly replied. "I have a confession. I had sex with Lizzy Burns Thursday, but honey it was just sex and it was the only time. Plus it wasn't even any good – she's not nearly as sexy and fun as you are sweetie..."

I held up my hand and with a very measured tone cut him off. "I don't want to hear about it. What makes you think that I care how many times it was or how good it was? We're done!"

"Now honey, please let's get past this; I know that we can."

"I don't want to," I replied. I called a cab. Trent continued to plead with me as I walked to the front door, picked up my already packed suitcases that had anything valuable that I owned in them, then looking Trent straight in the eye lied "Maybe we can get over this – but not right now. I'll be by to get my stuff when you're at work Monday. If you want any chance at reconciliation you better not mess with anything that's mine," then walked out.

I had already told my parents the night before that I would be there Saturday around noon to stay two nights. I had already scoped out an apartment close to my workplace and could move in Monday if I signed the papers then. I didn't want to sign them before since that would indicate advanced planning on my part. From my parent's house I called one of my co-workers, Jim.

Jim is the biggest and best looking, though strangely the most shy, co-worker in my department. Many times I caught him surreptitiously staring at me, but he never overtly hit on me like the other guys did. I knew from the general scuttlebutt in the office that he had broken up with his girlfriend about two months before, and I considered him a real hunk.

'Hi Jim, this is Jeanette?"

"Hi Jeanette, it's great to hear from you."

"Aha, I hoped that you would be happy to hear from me, but I'm not too sure that you will be after I tell you the favor that I want from you."

"I'm sure that I'll be thrilled to help you," Jim replied with a real earnestness to his voice.

"Well, you see, I'm separated from my husband and I really would like the help of a big strong guy like yourself to move my stuff from my old to my new apartment Monday at lunch. You have a pickup truck as I recall," I said in the sweetest and most charming voice that I could conjure.

"Oh...I'm sorry to hear that – I mean about separating from your husband," he replied after a moment's hesitation. Actually, he sounded anything except sorry to hear that, however. "Sure, I'd be happy to help; but will we have enough time at lunch?"

"I asked the boss if I and anyone willing to help – and I'm glad that it's you – could take a few hours and he said 'as much time as you need.'"

After some more chit-chat, in the sexiest voice possible I said "Thank you sooo much, Jim. I'll see you Monday – I can't wait."

My Dad dropped me off at the office for my new apartment Monday morning. I signed the papers and gave them my deposit from the checking account I had opened up in my name more than two months before – at the Second National Bank while I was casing it – and then walked to work. Jim greeted me with a big smile.

Jim was so enthusiastic in helping me that it made my crotch tingle. He was strong. He carried the twin mattress from our second bedroom to his pickup by himself as well as the other four or five decent sized pieces of furniture I took from my old apartment. I only had to help him with one of the dressers, and I carried all the small stuff.

We had everything in my new apartment within two hours.

I offered Jim a beer – I brought in a six pack when my Dad dropped me off – while I made a call on my cell phone. The weekend I moved out I had purchased a cell phone for the first since I was a teenager and my parents were paying for it. I made the call to Trent's workplace in Jim's presence. Fortunately I got Trent on the line.

"Trent, this is Jeanette," I said coldly.

"Oh, hi, hon..." he started out, but I interrupted.

"Trent, I'm calling about three things. First, I've decided to file for divorce. I'm going to do it on irreconcilable differences, but if you lie to anyone about your adultery I'll change the grounds. Got it?"

amyyum
amyyum
1,750 Followers
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