Michelle

I was sitting at the dinner table when it first hit me. My two daughters were telling me that they had both been selected to attend a weekend band camp in the Poconos. They would leave next Friday afternoon and return Sunday evening.

Suddenly, my pork chop lost its flavor. It was Monday and I had a really bad feeling I would be going to Cleveland next weekend. It was a tremendous shock, yet I felt calm and rational. Had I been blind? Had I missed the signs? Had there even been any signs? Was I jumping to conclusions?

I realized the answer to my last question would come tomorrow at work. There was still one piece to the puzzle. I felt dead certain that piece would fall into place tomorrow. The girls helped their mother clean the kitchen while I sat there, replaying the past few months in my mind. Try as I would, I could remember no unusual behavior or actions. If there had been any signs, they were small and imperceptible.

A short while later the girls called me in to watch the movie they had rented. As I sat next to my wife, Michelle, I wracked my brain. She and our daughters laughed through the movie. I have no idea what the film was about.

I managed almost no sleep that night and I dreaded going in to work, as I never had before. Around midmorning, my worst fears were realized when I was called into my boss's office.

"I know it is short notice, Eric, but I need you to fly to Cleveland this weekend to handle the Jenkins account. I planned on sending Jeffers, but I think you understand this account better. Can you go, Eric?" asked George Stowe, the account manager.

There it was. Part of me reveled in solving a riddle with almost no clues, while another part of me was ill. I thought back to the conversation I had overheard a week ago.

I had taken the elevator down to the lobby after work. Then I remembered I had left my car keys in my desk. I cursed to myself as I pressed the button to take me back up to the fifth floor and my office. As I picked my keys up, I and saw a letter I had planned to mail, so I headed for the room where we place our outgoing mail. To reach that room, I had to pass George Stowe's office.

George was a few years older than I. He was a rugged man with an easy manner and a roving eye. I often wondered why his wife never caught him fooling around. He made tomcats look scrupulous.

"If your kids do make that trip next weekend, I'll be sure to assign him to handle an account in Cleveland," boomed George with a chuckle. "Your pussy will get a real pounding from my big cock for two days straight. I'll tell Marge that I have to go to Cleveland. She never cares where I am as long as I leave her ice box alone."

"Some poor schmuck is going to have his wife fucked senseless by that asshole next weekend while he is doing some shit job in Cleveland," I smiled to myself. "Someday George will fuck the wrong wife and find himself in some deep shit."

With that thought, I put the letter in the tray and, like Elvis, left the building. I forgot about the entire thing. At least I forgot about it until dinner last night when my daughters told me they were going away for the weekend!

I had no reasons to be suspicious. I had no clue that Michelle knew George more than slightly. We never traveled in the same social circles. Yet, somehow, I would have bet a year's pay that I was going to be sent to Cleveland for the weekend. It came as no surprise when George explained how badly the company needed me to wrap up the Cleveland account. It would have been more of a bombshell if it hadn't happened.

I have always enjoyed chess and over the years I have become quite good at it. Michelle quit playing it with me years ago. She complained bitterly about my methods.

"You are supposed to capture the other player's king, Eric, not see how many of his players you can knock off!" she would rant. "Why the hell do you have to be so devious?"

I never bothered to respond to her complaints. Chess isn't a bang-head type of game. It requires finesse, and the ability to turn shit into shinola. I felt that if your bishop is going to be lost, make it work for you, or at least make it hurt your opponent. I developed a knack for turning impending doom into a positive situation. It sometimes took several moves, often away from the apparent conflict, but it was almost always successful.

I came to realize that life isn't too much more than a complicated chess game. I found that if I concentrated on a problem, and ignored the pain of a short-term loss, I could make a bad situation work for me. George fucking my wife would be difficult to put a good spin on, but who said the game would be easy?

"I'll tell Michelle tonight and plan on leaving Friday, George," I responded. "I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity. You won't regret it."

"I'm sure I won't, Eric," chuckled George. "I'll be fucking your wife before your plane lands!"

He didn't actually say the part about how he'd be fucking Michelle, but I read his mind as I left his office. I knew why he was so jovial. He was having a little laugh at the expense of an idiot cuckold husband. I wondered if he would be sharing that little anecdote with Michelle after he plowed her garden.

Over the years, I had learned to think things through, rather than panic and do something stupid. George had my queen. Now I had to knock off some of his rooks, bishops, and knights to get to his king. The question was; how and where should I strike? Would I have the necessary pieces? Perhaps I would, if he didn't realize that I knew he had captured my queen.

The most difficult part of the game for me would be acting like everything was fine at home. Odd behavior on my part would be noticed by Michelle immediately. It was a real shame, but I now viewed her as an opponent rather than my partner. That was not a good feeling, but a very reasonable one, given the circumstances. Mata Hari had nothing on Michelle!

I began to wonder why I was so certain she was fucking George. Couldn't it all be coincidence? Was I paranoid? Letting fear destroy what had been a good marriage, at least I had always felt it was, would be really stupid. I decided to test my 'unfaithful wife' theory before I took any drastic action. It would also give me time to plan my next few moves and anticipate George's, as well as Michelle's.

If George was fucking Michelle, they had to communicate from time to time, though I had never seen any indication of it. How hard would it be for him to call her at work, or vice-versa? I wasn't a sleuth, or even suspicious, so all they had to do was be cautious. That afternoon, I came up with an idea or two to see if I was the odd-man-out in a love triangle.

"How was work, Sweetheart?" asked Michelle as I came through the door. She always got home half an hour before I did.

"Same shit, different day, Darling," I grinned. "I was thinking that since the girls were going away to band camp this weekend, we should do something together."

Was there a flicker of annoyance on Michelle's face? Was I imagining it?

"Ah, yeah, well, we probably could do something," responded Michelle. "I did promise my mother I would stop by her place on Saturday, but we could work around that. Is your weekend schedule clear?"

Why would she ask that? I hadn't traveled for work on a weekend in almost a year. Was she fishing, or possibly trying to remind me I was going to Cleveland so George could fuck the shit out of her? This was going to be an interesting game! That is, if it was a game and not my imagination.

"I have no plans," I lied. "Why don't we go to a show and dinner in the city Friday evening?"

There were two things about Michelle of which I was certain. She loved to go to shows and she hated to waste money. If she believed I was not going to be around, she would be reluctant to buy the tickets. George was not a theater kind of guy and the chance of being recognized at a restaurant we frequent was too great.

"It's kind of sudden, Eric," wavered Michelle. "We may not be able to get tickets."

"Michelle, we have gotten them on shorter notice than this. Do you want me to go on line and see what I can find?" I asked.

"No, I'll check into if you are so set on a show. Who knows what you would pick?" bitched Michelle. "I'll take care of it, as long as you are sure you will be able to go."

"Why wouldn't I be able to go? Did you hire a hit man to whack me? Did you read my horoscope and see impending doom for me?" I laughed. "Have you been chatting with Dionne Warwick again? Or was it the tea leaves?"

"Okay, Smart-ass. I'll see about getting the tickets tomorrow, okay?" grinned my once loving wife. "I can do it at work and be paid while I am looking."

The next day was Wednesday and George called me into his office just before lunch.

"You are getting packed and ready to go to Cleveland this weekend, aren't you, Eric?" he asked. "Did your wife understand how important this is to the company, and to your career?"

Why was he asking about me getting packed? I'm 53 fucking years old and don't need a nurse maid! Could it be Michelle had told him I was making alternate plans for Friday night? The way he mentioned how important it was to my career was a good touch. It was an implied, or inferred, threat. I wasn't sure which word was accurate.

"Not to worry, George!" I chuckled. "Michelle doesn't give me any shit. I have her ironing my underwear and folding my socks. I even told her I was going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and to have my Sergeant Pepper jacket packed."

George looked at me funny, but didn't seem able to form a response, so I smiled again and left his office.

That evening after dinner I asked Michelle if she managed to order our tickets.

"I found some, Eric, but they are quite expensive. Are you positive you will be able to go if I order them?" questioned Michelle. "Don't think it will be okay to spend that kind of money and then come up with some lame excuse to get out of going."

"Where the hell is this coming from," I demanded. "Have I ever begged off a night of dining and theater? Why are you so convinced I won't make it?"

"I didn't say you wouldn't make, Eric. I just want to be certain that if we spend that much money, nothing will come up to ruin it," she replied quickly.

Was she worried that I was getting suspicious of her reluctance to order the goddamn tickets? Was she dying to ask about Cleveland? Did she know George had ordered me out of town for the weekend? Were my actions confusing her? I grinned to myself as I joined the girls in front of the TV.

I was at my desk Thursday morning around eleven when Michelle called. This was not a common practice, although she did call me from time to time. We chatted for a few minutes, but I couldn't help but feel she was waiting for something and that she really didn't have any reason to call.

Suddenly George appeared by my desk and asked loudly, "So Eric are you looking forward to Cleveland and the Hall of Fame?"

I had returned the phone to the cradle before he had managed two words. His surprise was apparent.

"You bet I am, George. I had Michelle get a Jimi Hendrix wig for me to take," I stated with a straight face. "Maybe I'll have her pick up an Elvis jump suit, too."

My phone began ringing.

"Aren't you going to answer that, Eric?" asked George.

"What could be as important as a little chat with the boss?" I replied. "I'll let it go to voicemail."

George looked at me with his eyes slightly squinted, as if he was trying to decide something about me. Then he nodded, turned and walked from the room.

The phone rang again. Michelle was on the other end.

"Why did you hang up on me, Eric?" she demanded. "Did I hear someone asking you something?"

"I am quite sure you didn't hear anything, Michelle. I hung up too fast," I responded. "I have to get back to work now. I'll see you tonight."

I hung up the phone before she could say any more and considered my next move. It occurred to me that I should gather some hard proof about Michelle's affair. It could be a real help in any divorce action. To that end, I purchased a tape recorder that could be sound activated, while I was on my lunch break.

When I got back to my office, I decided to stash it rather than answer questions about it when anyone came into my office. I went to put it in a supply closet not far from my desk, but when I moved some boxes of paper to hide the recorder, I saw one just like it!

Life is full of surprises! Once I realized what I was looking at, I wondered where the little microphone device was hidden. I followed the wire down the inside of the closet wall and it disappeared under the carpeting. On a hunch, I crawled around my desk looking at all the parts that touched the floor. There the wire was, running up the inside of my desk. I followed it and found the little microphone in a small nook, pretty well protected from my knees, and eyes!

It seemed that someone, probably George, was listening to me. How could I make that work for me? Obviously, I could stir up some trouble for him just by pointing it out to management. That would be if they posted someone to wait for him to check the tape and catch him red-handed. There had to be better ways to turn it to a positive thing. I decided to be very careful what I said in my office. He would know every word I ever uttered! I had to give it some thought.

Later that day, I tapped on George's office door.

"George, I'm sorry to bother you but I just remembered I had promised to take Michelle to a show Friday night. I don't think I will be able to make the trip to Cleveland," I blustered. "Michelle will have my balls if I bail on this. She warned me that if she ordered the tickets, I had better be ready to go, regardless of what came up."

I watched George mull this over. He knew I was lying. He also knew that he should have no way of knowing that I was lying. He had to be careful not to give himself away. It was my bet that he would think I had asked Michelle to order the tickets so I would have an excuse to not go to Cleveland.

"I see what you mean, Eric. Tell you what. I'll buy the tickets from you and take my wife to the show Friday! Then you will be able to go next weekend, or whenever. Will that work?" he practically grinned as he complimented himself on circumventing my pathetic effort to avoid Cleveland.

"Gee, George, I guess it will," I reluctantly admitted. "Thanks for freeing up my weekend."

"It's my pleasure, Eric," George beamed as I turned and left his office.

"I'll give your wife an extra load of cum to make up for the expense!"

I know he didn't really say that last sentence, but again, I knew he was thinking it!

"Did you get tickets to a show for tomorrow night?" I questioned Michelle when I got home.

"Yes, I did," replied Michelle. "Do you still plan on going?"

"Where the hell is that coming from?" I demanded. "You keep expecting me to change my mind. I would like to know why."

"I was just, well, it just seems like you.... I mean what if," stuttered Michelle. "I'm sorry I seem so dubious. I won't ask again."

I acted annoyed and stalked into the living room with a beer. Michelle must be wondering what the hell I was up to and why I didn't tell her about Cleveland. She couldn't ask because she should have no way of knowing I was being sent there. She knew I was not telling her the truth, but she also knew she couldn't let on that she knew. This was getting interesting. It was forcing Linda to go against all womanly instincts. She had me in a lie and couldn't even acknowledge it, let alone chew me a new asshole!

That simple little thought led to my next gambit in the game of silent, creative revenge. I could hardly wait to go into work Friday.

At ten-thirty I picked up my phone and dialed a number I knew was no longer in service. As I talked I watched the little tape recorder in my closet. A small indicator light came on and I knew it was show time.

I pretended to be talking to my brother, Chuck. I did the usual small talk thing for a minute or so. Then I set my trap.

"Chuck, you don't need a book on sex! You should do what I do. It works great!" I asserted.

I waited a few seconds, as if Chuck were speaking on his end.

"Now listen to your older brother, and don't interrupt," I admonished. "Michelle always refused to let me fuck her ass. Then one night after a few drinks I was doing her doggy-style and admired her little brown eye. I just pulled my cock out of her pussy and pushed it into her ass before she could say or do anything. She cursed me and screamed for me to stop. The kids weren't home, so I just kept pounding into her. After a couple minutes, she stopped complaining and started moving with me. Pretty soon she had the mother of all orgasms! When I was ready to cum, I pulled out and pushed my cock into her face. She sucked me dry, Bro!"

I fell silent for a few seconds and then started in again.

"To this day she denies that she loves anal sex. She uses all kinds of reasons and excuses not to have it. Every now and then I just push my cock into her ass when she isn't expecting it. She still screams and curses for a minute or two, but she always has intense orgasms and sucks my cock dry when I put it in her face. It is always an incredible sexual experience."

I felt like I was on a roll so pretended to hang up. Then I dialed a local floral shop.

"Hello. This is Eric Swenson and I'd like to order a corsage and have it delivered to Mrs. Martha Stowe. She is going to the theater tonight, so make it something nice. Please include a card. I want it to say this: "Have a great time with George at the theater. I will be thinking of you from Cleveland. Signed, Eric Swenson." Then I gave them George Stowe's address.

I went home at lunchtime to pack for my trip. I had considered not going, but what would be the sense. It was obvious that Michelle and George had found ways to get together before I suspected anything. I decided to improve my status with the company, just in case George ever left, died, or was terminated. I wanted to be the one that was offered his position. As I was leaving, I asked a secretary to deliver the theater tickets to George. He didn't know it yet, but he was going to need them.

I left a short note to Michelle apologizing for missing the theater engagement, but I explained how George had magnanimously offered to buy the tickets and take his wife to the show. I installed my recorder under the bed and called a cab to take me to the airport. If Michelle were innocent, she would be pissed over my deception, but would get over it. If she were guilty... well, it would be a memorable weekend!

I had a great trip to Cleveland. I schmoozed and ass-kissed to the utmost and I felt it had paid off. I secured the account and made a strongly favorable impression on some of the company's best clients. I strolled into our house around five Sunday afternoon. I saw the bags on the floor and knew my daughters had just arrived home as well.

"Hey, Dad, where did you get that jacket and the wig, and why are you wearing them?" asked Rita.

"Yeah, Dad," chimed in her sister. "You look like Jimi Hendrix' and Paul McCartney's lovechild!"

"How would a 16 year-old kid know who I am?" I asked incredulously. "Most people in their 50's on the flight never even guessed that I'm Jimi Hendrix dressed as Sgt. Pepper!"

"Could it be all the albums and tapes and CD's you have forced upon us since birth?" laughed Rita. "You would have loved the camp we were at, Dad. We practiced some songs from that album. You probably would have cried or something."

I felt a surge of pride as I considered my daughters. They were beautiful, smart, talented and possessed great humor. Even if Michelle had lost her way, she had given me treasures beyond compare. Where was Michelle?