Notes on a Wife Scandal

She arrives at my door at 9 pm, our first time meeting, and after a handshake I let her inside. She compliments my small apartment. She's just trying to be nice. Her heels cost more than my furniture. I notice that she's dressed for the occasion, as if this were a job interview. I get the feeling she wants an off-the-books favor.

I never have meetings like this, but Becky is the wife of someone who runs a private religious institution. A powerful one. And they are a power couple in this state and have lots of money and political influence. She strikes me as a trophy wife, someone who's there to look good with a cushy public relations job in their organization.

We sit in the living room and I serve coffee. She takes a small sip, nervous about being here.

"What can I do for you?" I ask.

"Are you discreet? Will this stay between us? Or will you have to report this to the police department?"

"Technically I'm a mandatory reporter, meaning if I know of a crime, I have to report it. But if you can keep a secret, so can I."

She opens her purse and places an unmarked envelope on the table. The top is open and I can see a stack of bills inside, brand new, wrapped in the center.

"That's ten thousand dollars for now," she says.

"What's this about?"

"I need your help. Between us, okay? I don't want the police involved."

"We can get into a lot of trouble over this."

"No one will ever know," she says. "Please, just help me, okay?"

I regret my tone, because it's women like Becky who are the reason I work in law enforcement. I'm the product of a broken home. My mother was abused by two different husbands. I live vicariously through my mother.

"This will stay between us," I say. "Whatever you tell me will remain a secret. But if I need to involve the police, I'll tell you. How does that sound?"

She nods. "Thank you."

"Please, put your money away. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Sorry."

Becky takes the envelope and puts it back inside her purse.

"Do you have a problem with your husband?" I ask. "Is he violent?"

She shakes her head. "No, never. Not in a million years."

"Are you actively involved in a crime, or have been in the past?"

"I've never committed a crime in my life," she says. "I mean, speeding, sure, occasionally. Little things, like anyone else. Nothing I'd ever go to jail for."

"That's good, I'm glad. So what brings you here? Why do you need my help?"

Becky takes a deep breath. "We're being blackmailed."

"You and your husband?"

"Correct."

"Do you know who's doing this?" I ask.

"Not exactly, that's the problem, but I have some ideas."

And just like that, I'm in uncharted territory in my career. Now I'm thrust into a political space where I'm not sure I want to be. I've also never dealt with blackmail before. At least not of this magnitude.

I think fast, wondering how I should approach this delicate situation. Becky looks like she hasn't been sleeping well. The lines around her eyes are pronounced.

"This can remain between us, for now. I understand your need for discretion given the fact that your husband is a public figure."

She nods. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Do you mind if I ask a few questions?"

"Sure. This is about sex, just to give you a warning."

"Did you have an affair?"

"No, the opposite," she says. "My husband Frank arranged the whole thing. I'm sure you get what I'm hinting at."

"It's a common fantasy amongst men."

My ex-boyfriend wanted the same thing from me, so I understand what Becky is saying. I keep a straight face, but I'm taken aback that the golden couple are engaged in this sort of thing. Saying it would be a public scandal is an understatement, especially with a wife as beautiful as Becky.

"I never knew about this fetish until he told me," Becky says. "We've been together since college and I was faithful to him. I never dreamed of being with other men. I was always by Frank's side, even helping him run the family business. Are you interested in hearing this?"

"If it's relevant to your situation, then I'd like to know."

"This is humiliating. I've never discussed this before."

"Secrecy is part of my job. I've heard it all."

There's a brief moment of silence as Becky looks down, shaking her head in disbelief, wondering how she got here.

"It was first discussed on our anniversary," she says. "We'd been together for a long time and we had a romantic dinner. We made love that night, it was normal, and he randomly asked if I'd sleep with another man. It was blunt, like he rehearsed it. At first I thought he was suspicious of me, that he was accusing me of having an affair. I denied it. I've never cheated on anyone.

She continues, "But then I realized that I misunderstood. Frank was still inquiring, but he wasn't mad, wasn't accusing me. I know when my husband wants something and it became clear that he wanted to see me with another man. I was shocked. Horrified. Stunned. How could any man want that from his wife? I dedicated my life to him -- we made a vow to God -- and that's what he wanted from me? I was furious and nearly screamed at him.

She continues, "In hindsight, I should have known. Early into our marriage, Frank used to ask about my previous sexual experiences. I thought it was Frank's way of testing my purity and I wanted to be honest with him. He used to ask about my prior experiences giving oral sex. Looking back, I'm sure it aroused him. Is this too much information?"

Becky accepts her humiliation and is opening herself. Her eyes are locked on mine and she wants to leave after telling this story.

"This doesn't bother me," I say. "If you're comfortable telling me, then I want to hear it."

"It's graphic, okay?"

I nod. "We're both women, both adults. The sexual details will remain between us. I just need the relevant information so I can help."

"Thank you."

"Don't worry about it. Tell me about the man you slept with. Or the men, assuming there were multiple."

"There were multiple," she says, cheeks blushing. "The first time was when we moved our primary residence to Florida, to a nice place outside Miami. It was the start of a new life. The hot weather and sunshine were a change of pace for me. I'd always been shy with my body, always dressed conservatively. That's how I was raised. But at my age, I wanted a change. I know I'm getting older and I wanted to make the best of my time. I worked out harder and enjoyed the pool.

She continues, "Months later, I was getting so comfortable in my new body, that when the kids were at school, I would walk around in a bikini and thin robe. It was the new version of me. The version that felt younger and more free. But that's what got me into trouble. It's where my moral values began to stray."

"What happened?" I ask.

"There are many conservatives in South Florida and my husband was getting invited to a lot of events. I was treated like a celebrity and I enjoyed dressing up, meeting classy people, important people. I wore dresses that I never dreamed of wearing before. My arms and upper chest were displayed. I liked showing off.

She continues, "We were invited to a pool party and my husband encouraged me to wear a bikini smaller than what I'd normally wear. He assured me that the other women were around my age, which made me feel better. I decided to join. Why not? Life is short. We arrived and I wore a small bikini with loose clothing over it. Once the party started, it was strictly swimsuits for everyone. While the men talked about business, us women lounged by the pool, talking about lighter subjects.

She continues, "There was a young man there, a pool boy doing menial tasks, who was eying me. At first it bothered me, but I'll admit, it made me feel sexy. It made me feel attractive to be noticed by a much younger man. I guess that's one of the major differences of living in Florida, people are more open about their sexual interests.

She continues, "Later during the party, I met with my husband and told him everything, how it made me uncomfortable. Frank laughed, saying he could tell that I was enjoying the attention. We've been together for so long that he can read my body language and emotions. He knows when my heart is conflicted."

"Did he encourage you?" I ask.

"Of course he did. Yeah. Frank told me that we'd be there for a couple more hours, that I might as well make the best of it. He said the place was huge, that I could take the pool boy to the bathroom, and no one would know. My jaw dropped. For the first time in our marriage, I wanted to slap him across the face.

She continues, "Instead I stormed off, going back to the group of women, pretending like everything was normal. I know how to be a good wife. I know how to put on an act because my husband's life is public. I love my husband, but I also have to be performative in front of others.

She continues, "I kept thinking about it. While the women talked, I daydreamed. The hours came and went and the party was almost over. The pool boy kept admiring me from afar, every so often. I thought about it. God, I thought about it. Aside from handshakes and hugs, I hadn't touched another man since I started dating my husband in college. I imagined what it would be like. You know, to touch another guy down below.

She continues, "I accidentally made eye contact with the pool boy, smiled at him, then looked away. I needed to use the bathroom after all the drinks I had, pure coincidence. I went to pee. Thinking nothing of it. The pool boy mistakenly thought I was sending him a signal, because there he was, standing outside the bathroom with a smile on his face.

She continues, "It was our first time talking and he was quite flirtatious with me. That was a new experience for me, as I mentioned -- South Florida -- the rules are different. Young men in our previous residence wouldn't dare to flirt with me so brazenly, the age thing and all, who my husband is. I was treated with respect where I'm originally from. This young guy didn't get the memo.

She continues, "But in the back of my mind, I was thinking about what my husband wanted. I'll admit, I was aroused during that brief conversation, and the pool boy knew it. When I said I was leaving, that it was nice talking to him, the pool boy looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then he pulled me back inside the bathroom and locked the door.

She continues, "That's when I gave him oral sex. He took his penis out. It was hard. My first time seeing an erection other than my husband's. It was beautiful, I'll admit. I got on my knees and serviced him, which was exciting. He was roughly the same size as my husband, but had more vigor. More lust for life and passion. He came a lot more than my husband.

She continues, "On the drive home, I was silent. I was wracked with guilt and my husband sensed it. Frank asked if I did anything. I admitted my actions with the pool boy. I could hear my husband breathing harder. He freed himself while he drove, meaning, his penis, which was quite hard. It was my first time giving oral sex while my husband drove. Can you imagine that? A woman like me -- two men in a single day."

"Did you continue seeing the pool boy?" I ask.

"At my husband's insistence. For the next week, it fueled Frank's arousal. We had sex more often and he got hard listening to details of how I sucked that guy off. Frank contacted his friend, who gave the pool boy my phone number. I didn't think I'd ever hear from that guy again. I didn't want to, either. Sucking him off was enough sexual adventure for one lifetime.

She continues, "At first I tried ignoring him, but he messaged me a few times over the following days. I'll admit, the attention was nice. It gave me an adrenaline rush every time I saw his text. I eventually messaged him back. He sent pictures of himself. I sent pictures in return, me in a bikini, lounging by the pool. My husband knew about the whole thing.

She continues, "It got to the point where the three of us met for sex. Me, my husband, and the young man. The first time was in a hotel, my husband watched. My hands were shaking while it happened. The sex was amazing. The whole time I kept thinking, 'My husband must think I'm such a slut.' That was my biggest fear, that a switch would flip in my husband's head and I'd no longer be pure. That I'd no longer be the innocent wife that he married.

She continues, "But that was far from the truth. What my husband wanted was duality. A pure, religious wife in public and at home. A slut in the bedroom, to be shared with other men. Why? I wondered if he was secretly gay, living out his fantasies vicariously through me. According to him, it was the rush, the taboo, of seeing me in such pleasure.

She continues, "It got to the point where we fucked in our own home, when the kids were at school. My husband invited the young man and we fucked on our marital bed. It happened often. About 50 times in a year. My husband was there most of the time, watching, masturbating. I developed feelings for the young man, you know. We took him out, spoiled him with money, and we managed to keep the whole thing discreet.

She continues, "Eventually I learned that he started using hard drugs. He offered when my husband wasn't around, but I always declined. He got accepted to graduate school and he moved. I hadn't seen him since, but we've kept in touch, I still show him bikini pictures of me. He sends me pictures of his cock. So that's the story with him. Is he the one blackmailing me? I don't know. It's possible, but I don't know."

A tear forms in the corner of Becky's left eye, which she wipes away. Clearly she's hurt by the sense of betrayal. I can understand.

"How did you receive the blackmail?" I ask.

Becky opens her purse and gives me a typed letter, which is concealed in a plastic bag. The letters are in caps and the words are in bold:

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOUR FRIENDS / FAMILY / PUBLIC KNEW WHAT YOU DO IN THE BEDROOM???

HOW MUCH IS THE SECRET WORTH???

I'LL BE IN TOUCH

A chill goes down my spine from reading it. I can only imagine what this puts Becky through, knowing her well-crafted persona is on the line.

"You must think I'm a terrible slut," she says.

"No, not at all. But my opinion isn't important. Who else knows about this?"

"Just my husband. We got it a few days ago. Frank doesn't want to contact the police, he wants to pay, if the price is reasonable."

"Who else have you had sex with?" I ask. "Who are the other suspects?"

"This is the part where politics gets involved."

"Sure, this will stay between us. When the time comes to involve other people, I'll let you know. Everything is under your control."

My goal is to help, but if I'm being honest, I'm curious how a woman like Becky ended up in this position. Psychology and human sexuality are things that interest me. I'm also a woman of action. This gets my blood flowing.

Everything leads to this. The pool boy was foreplay. It's amazing how a woman's confidence changes once she's comfortable in her skin. Rebecca has always been prudish, conservative, and far more religious than me. I'm religious, but mostly because of my family. She's deeply religious on her own accord.

I've become friends with the Mayor of our small community, who covets my wife. Other men's wives are his fetish. It's a power thing for sure. He shares his wife, in exchange he can sample other women. But it's the Mayor who maintains total control. It's like a private club amongst couples with likeminded political, sexual and moral beliefs.

According to him, there is something about Becky that screams 'hotwife,' which made me laugh. But then again, he's been doing this so long that he can sense the subtle changes in women, and what that does to their sexual beings. It's almost like an energy flow that emanates, according to him.

That's when I told the Mayor everything that's been happening with my wife.

My wife thinks I'm crazy when I confess that our secret arrangement is no longer secret. She has a personal affection for the Mayor, based on respect and admiration. She likes being in the presence of powerful people, along with being invited to the best social events. Like the majority of women, status in society and reputation mean everything to her.

I apologize to my wife profusely, even buying her flowers and a gold necklace. I swear I'm a good husband. I'd even say that I'm better than most husbands are with their wives. I treat her like a queen.

The Mayor invites us to a bbq/pool party at his house. I can't turn down the opportunity. Some very important people will be there. My wife is hesitant about going because the Mayor knows she's a 'hotwife,' which still bothers her. No one was ever supposed to know.

Eventually I convince Rebecca and she wears a modest summer dress and modest sized bikini underneath. I chose her outfit, deliberately picking something she used to wear for the pool boy. It shows off her figure and makes her feel sexy. It's also a subtle reminder of what she is -- a hotwife -- and she should always remember that. It turns her on.

We arrive at the pool party and the Mayor greets us, but gives Rebecca special attention. They've met several times before and made small talk, but this is their first time meeting where the Mayor has intimate knowledge of her sex life. The Mayor is more charming than usual; my wife knows what the man wants. Intuitive women can tell a man's true intentions. My feelings are mixed. I like that other men find my wife attractive. I'm wondering how far she's willing to go with men like this.

The familiar 'I wish she would / I wish she wouldn't' process goes on in my head. The same as always. I picture Rebecca on her knees. The Mayor's cock in her mouth. I love watching her suck cock. But the Mayor's cock? Oral sex is a power play for the Mayor, from what he's told me. It's a way of asserting control, dominance, by making a woman kneel and accept.

Inevitably I get caught up in different conversations. When men like us get together, big investments are discussed, allocation of money, endorsement of candidates. The things you'd expect from people in our position. I barely notice the Mayor slipping away with my wife. They seem to be flirting as they go in their own direction.

Their arms lock and the Mayor leads her somewhere. She nods, smiles at him, and they head inside his study and close the door. I wonder what's happening there. I'm in a discussion about renovating a building at the religious university that I operate, but my attention is on my wife.

About 20 minutes later they emerge. The Mayor's arm is wrapped around Rebecca's waist, he's whispering something in her ear, she has a shy smile and appears to be agreeing with whatever he's saying. Her hair is slightly disheveled. Her cheeks, rosy red.

I excuse myself from the group and go to my wife when the Mayor mingles with other guests. She seems disappointed that I'm here, as if she needs time alone after what she had just done.

"I saw you and the Mayor in his study. What happened there?"

"He was showing me around," she says.

"Be honest with me."

Rebecca tenses, then smiles because we're in public. "Well, if you must know, this was your fault, okay? You brought me here. You showed these men pictures of me. And you told them intimate details of our private life."

A spark of excitement grew in me. It's true. I shared personal photos of my wife with the Mayor and others. Nothing overtly sexual, but nude photos of her sunbathing in our backyard. Some of the pictures were voyeur shots, others from when I walked close to her.

Whenever she found out that I took pictures of her breasts, she got mad, but never forced me to delete the images. She liked knowing that I still found her desirable after all our years of marriage. It's important for a woman to feel attractive and wanted.