Outsurance

We think this one has a new discovery method but I'm sure you'll tell us if we're wrong.

This one started as Cliché 5, written by myself, but when I gave it to my wife, lover, partner in crime, and all-round beautiful person, she thought it was original enough to not deserve the title. And she was right. Once she wielded her magic on it, it became so much better than the original and hence the authorship changed.

Again, we urge you not to believe the dismal Jimmies here who say everything has been done. Put finger to keyboard and 'have a go' as we say in Terra Australis.

V1.

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If I'd known that today would be the last normal day in my life for many months to come, I might have made more effort to stop and smell the roses.

It was near 3:00 p.m. when my secretary came into my office to say there was a man to see me. I stood and walked around my desk as she led him in, but he ignored my outstretched hand. Well, ignored it for a handshake. He took advantage of my stance to thrust an A4 envelope into it with the words, 'You've been served'.

I may have been shocked into silence, but I'm not naïve; I'd read enough cheating wife stories to think I knew what was going on. Wife falls in love with another guy, or gal, falls out of love with the husband, and sneaks around behind his back. Prepares, plots, schemes, and betrays, until the hammer falls on the unsuspecting hubby.

I just couldn't believe it applied to my wife. Sure, after almost twenty-five years of marriage we weren't starry-eyed in love like we used to be, but what couples were after a quarter of a century together? I did think, however, that starry eyes and unbridled lust had been replaced by a deep-down respect and companionable friendship. That our inferno had mellowed to a warm, toasty fire. I thought she loved being the doesn't-have-to-work wife of a successful businessman, enjoying her roles in various church groups, being the chairwoman of our local school board, as well as having her finger in many other local society events.

I stared down at the envelope, stunned, and asked myself why. Nothing came to mind. She'd given absolutely no clues she was unhappy with me. Knew me well enough to know if she had a problem, any problem, she could come to me and discuss it rationally and calmly. Yes, I'd noticed she was a little worried looking in the last couple of days and refused to be drawn on what was on her mind, but she certainly hadn't acted like she was going to cut me off at the knees anytime soon.

Neither was it like she thought I was having a hot and heavy affair and was taking advantage of our recent empty nest status to dump me. I am and always have been a one-woman man and have never strayed, not even once, from our marriage vows, even though my secretary once told me in all seriousness that had I been single I'd be considered quite the catch. When I travel, which is extensively and on my own, I have plenty of opportunities. Opportunities I have never availed myself of, so I discounted that immediately. Besides, with my wife's legendary Irish temper, if she'd caught me cheating, she'd have been wearing my gonads as a necklace five minutes later.

I realised I was procrastinating. Delaying the moment my world was officially destroyed. Despite my realisation another minute passed as I stared at the envelope. Finally, one deep breath later, I tore at the edge of the package and pulled out the thick wad of papers. Reading the top, a huge sigh of relief escaped me. The letter wasn't headed, 'Petition For The Dissolution Of Marriage' as I'd anticipated but for something else I was being sued for.

I mentally kicked myself for doubting my wife's love and fidelity, vowing to pick her up a huge bouquet of flowers on the way home and maybe take her out somewhere fancy.

Still shaking with relief, I walked around my desk and allowed myself to fall into my chair to read the document properly.

What the fuck! It wasn't the business being sued, as I expected, but our homeowner's insurance policy. I was being sued on behalf of some idiot called Simon Rogers who had apparently fallen down my stairs four days ago and suffered injuries serious enough as to still be in hospital. The cover letter went on to say I was being sued for medical costs, loss of earnings, as well as pain and suffering. Let's just say that the amount the guy was seeking was enough to fund a minor third world country for a while.

I leaned back in my chair as I looked at the statements that accompanied the letter from Simon's ambulance chaser, a little confused by the whole thing. I only noted three things from the statements.

Firstly, Mr. Simon Rogers had been visiting my wife, Jennifer Brown, at the time the accident happened, the accident being him falling down the stairs after tripping on a protruding nail on the top landing.

Secondly, this incident had occurred on a day I'd been out of town.

And, thirdly, the time of the incident was 5:00 a.m. Just before dawn at this time of year.

I leaned back even further in my chair as I recalled the layout of my house. There was only one set of stairs on the entire property, those running from the ground floor to the first. From the living parts of the house to the bedrooms. Only bedrooms were upstairs. There was a downstairs toilet so that nixed needing to use one of the upstairs bathrooms.

I was struck dumb once again as within the space of ten minutes I'd gone from thinking my wife was cheating, to being embarrassed and ashamed about not giving her the benefit of the doubt, to knowing what I now know. Some guy I didn't know fell down the stairs from our house's bedrooms in the early hours of the morning when my wife was home alone. Or not alone, as it turned out.

The memory of how I felt mere minutes ago when I thought I'd unjustly accused Jennifer of cheating stayed any further thoughts about possibilities for the moment. I needed facts and the packet told me which hospital the answers could be found in. Telling my secretary I'd be out for the rest of the day, I headed to the hospital, via picking up a gift basket of fruit. By the time I arrived my rampant emotions were back under control... for the moment.

It was visiting hours and the staff at the nurse's station were very helpful, pointing me to the right ward. It was a two-person room with only one current occupant. I turned on the voice recorder app on my phone, slipped it into my top pocket, and opened the door.

Simon Rogers, from what I could see under the bandages, traction devices, and plaster casts, was considerably younger, taller, more muscled, and fitter than me. He idly glanced at me entering his room, looked a little confused for a few seconds, then his eyes opened wide as he either recognised me or put two and two together. I leaned toward the former because he had that slack-faced look of the not-too-bright and there was certainly no shortage of photos of every member of our family throughout the house. He did what was probably the slowest lunge in history, his target the nurse call button. It must have hurt but his pain was for nothing. I beat him to it by about two minutes and placed it well out of his reach.

He now knew why I was here and how helpless he was. I deliberately let my eyes travel ever so slowly over all the wires and contraptions holding him in place, or torture devices as we both knew they were. He cast one more longing glance at the well-out-of-reach nurse call button and mentally collapsed.

"I'm sorry, man, real sorry. What do you want to know?"

"How long have you been fucking my wife, Jenny Brown?"

"About six months," he admitted quietly. I was stunned. Six months and I didn't have a clue. It lined up well with our empty nest though.

"Who came onto who?"

"I came onto her. I'm the janitor at the school where she is a board member." An embarrassed look came over his face. "I've got a... um, thing for older women, you know, especially ones as well put together as your old lady, I mean..."

He stopped talking real fast as my hand grabbed one of the wires attached to his leg. He pleaded with his eyes, realising he'd elaborated too much.

"Once you started chasing her, how long did it take to get her into bed?"

"About two weeks, I reckon. Yeah, about two weeks."

I stayed silent. With some people, it is best to just stop talking and they keep going to fill the uncomfortable gap. He was obviously, 'some people'.

"I mean, she let me know she was hot to trot pretty much straight away, then it took about another week or so for her to get me to understand and accept her rules, and then, um..."

"Yes?"

"Another week for you to go out of town on business."

At last he stopped yabbering and in the silence that followed I settled on the next question.

"You mentioned rules just then."

"Yeah, man. She had a bunch of them. About twenty rules I wasn't allowed to break. There was one..., hang on, pass my phone, she texted them to me so I wouldn't forget any." I handed him his phone from the bedside table. He unlocked it, found a text thread, scrolled to near the top, and handed it to me. The first thing I noticed was that the number the texts came from wasn't my wife's regular number. A burner phone I suspect, probably kept in the safe I didn't have the combination to. The safe the 'school insisted' she not let me see inside of.

There were Jenny's rules, all neatly laid out in her distinctive language.

- No public displays of affection or even acknowledging each other's existence in public. If you see me at the school, just keep walking.

- You will furnish me with a clear STD test before our first time.

- We will just be having sex, not making love, no affection, no kissing, just sex.

- We will only ever meet at my house when my husband is away on an overnight trip, and then only after I confirm he's where he says he is. I don't want him ringing the landline with me not there, it might take some explaining.

That explained why, when I was away on business, I was expected to use the hotel phone to call our house landline between 8.30 and 9.30 p.m. Jenny's reasoning for insisting on a landline call? Because, according to her, long phone calls on cell phones were linked to brain cancer.

- You will always supply and wear condoms. You'll bring a new, unopened box of five every time.

Five? Holy shit! When was the last time we'd had sex five times in a session? Had we ever? I looked at the man in the bed, bandaged and in traction. What was he? A machine?

I continued reading.

- I will witness you breaking the seal and also you flushing all five of them before you leave, used or unused. I'll need to account for every piece of wrapper before you flush them. You'll even wear one for oral sex.

Relief flooded me, leaving me feeling sick. I should not be feeling relieved that my wife may not have had sex five times in a session with her stud.

The five condom rule threw me so I read over the rules to that point again. What can I say? Wow! It looked like Jenny had read every Loving Wives story she could find and covered every discovery method she found. I kept reading the sickeningly logical text. It read like a vacation-planning or shopping To Do List rather than a lust-filled missive between potential lovers.

- You will park your car at the supermarket carpark three blocks from my house. I'll text you the earliest time you can come, which will be at least an hour after dark. You will walk from the carpark and enter by the back gate; I'll leave a door open for you. If there is anyone in the lane behind the house, you just keep walking.

- You will leave at least an hour before dawn by the same route. If for some reason we sleep in, I'll tell you when and how you leave.

- If I break off with you, you'll agree to leave me immediately with no further contact. If you object at the time, I'll guarantee you'll lose that crappy job of yours within the week.

I skim read another dozen or so secondary rules then handed him back the phone after forwarding the text to my number.

"Wow, very thorough, very logical. Bit cold, though."

"Yeah, too cold. I told her that kissing and snuggling was important to me in a relationship. She said we weren't' going to be having a relationship. Just sex. It was a package deal, take it or leave it. I told her I would leave it."

"And yet there you were, six months later."

"Yeah, well, your wife is very persuasive. I texted her 'no deal' and she came down to the basement at school where my workshop is the very next day and locked the door. She said something like, 'A few rules aren't worth these?', she dropped her dress, stepped out of it, and pulled her bra and panties off. She grabbed a tit in each hand, stepped into me and started rubbing them all over my face, shoving them in my mouth. 'Or this, she said', she was naked apart from her shoes and sat on a desk I was repairing, leaned back, and spread her legs. Man, I can't believe that pussy has had two kids."

I swallowed my revulsion at the crudeness. I didn't let on that Jenny had insisted on two caesareans with the best surgeon money could buy, telling me at the time it was so she could maintain her tightness, and leave her with the bare minimum of scarring.

"She's clean shaven, as, um, you would know, man," Simon said, having the decency to look a little embarrassed but that didn't stop the eagerness lacing his words. "And, um, she was obviously as wet as. I mean she was dripping. I almost burst through my zipper."

Again, I had to rein in my revulsion at having my wife spoken of like a cheap slut. From his words, she clearly was a cheap slut but over twenty-five years of love is hard to turn off.

"When I didn't immediately agree to her rules, she pulled out the last stop. 'Or this?' She turned and grabbed something out of her handbag. It turned out to be a biggish black butt plug. She bent over my workbench and shoved it up her own ass like a pro. She wasn't an anal virgin by a long shot."

That revelation hit hard, and I winced.

"I'm sorry, man. I really am. But, well, anyways, she then, um, pumped it in and out a couple of times. Sexy as, I mean, she must have lubed herself up before she came down. I'm sorry, but I couldn't say no. Not to that. I just nodded at her and tried to grab the dildo. She pushed me away, got dressed, said, 'You know the rules, I'll text', then she was gone. Two days later I got the call, and we had our first session."

I was stunned by all this information. I couldn't believe he was talking about the person I knew as my wife. Jenny, who revelled in foreplay, who thought doing it doggy was the height of kinky sex. In desperation, I asked another question.

"Where is Jenny's tattoo and what is it of?"

"A shamrock, left, sorry, right ass cheek."

I knew my marriage was over, had known before I even walked into the hospital, but I didn't have enough data to decide exactly how over it was.

"So, did you get to use all three of her holes?"

He looked scared and his eyes darted to the wires I could pull to inflict agony.

"Don't worry, Simon, if you answer with absolute honesty, after all, you don't know how much I already know, I promise to leave you intact."

I meant this. The guy had obviously suffered enough physical pain. The stairs had done an excellent job of beating him up. Better than I could have done. By his choice of words and manner of speaking, it was clear he wasn't that bright and had jumped at an opportunity he wasn't strong enough to resist. Still, his answer was a whisper.

"Yeah, all three."

I looked at Simon. Sure he was younger and fitter but Jenny was smart and Simon clearly wasn't. How could she stand to have a conversation with him? Oh, that's right. She only wanted him for sex. To blow him. Give him her ass. That rankled. I couldn't believe it. My last blowjob had been a month after the wedding and the one time I requested anal sex the entire house was an icebox for a month. I forged on.

"And you always wore rubbers?"

"For the first month or so, yes. After that she told me if I got tested every four weeks, I could fuck her without a rubber so she could swallow my load. She said she loved that. She also obviously had a thing about the feel of my cum dripping out of her ass after anal. I gotta tell you, she went wild for that."

I stood silently, sickened, absorbing the information that my wife wasn't anything like the woman I thought she was. Wisely, Simon shut the fuck up as well. Minutes passed before I could frame my next question.

"How often?"

"Every time you went out of town, I reckon. Two or three times every trip, except when your youngest kid was home on school holidays."

Fuck! That could have been a dozen times in all. Visions, I didn't want to see tried to push themselves into my brain. I resisted. Time for that later.

"Why sue me and let the cat out of the bag? Medicare should cover everything."

"This lawyer came in the day after I woke up from my induced coma. Said Medicare would only cover the basic stuff. An old push wheelchair if I never walk again, no carer if I'm crippled."

His voice shook as he uttered those words and his eyes watered up. Yes, he was very possibly paying a high price for fucking my wife.

"She said if I sued you, I'd be set for life. Besides, I've blown all my sick leave."

"How come?"

"Jenny kept me up all night sometimes. It was like she had no off button. I was often just too tired to go to work, so I called in sick."

I absorbed that fresh, disgusting tidbit. Who was this woman? The woman who had birthed my children?

"But to sue me you need to prove negligence on my part."

"Yeah, well, I think I tripped over a protruding nail on the top step. I'd seen it there before and offered to bang it in, Jenny said no, said it might give away that someone who could fix things had been there."

I mentally acknowledged how smart my wife had been but was a little confused. Jenny had asked me to bang in that nail last month, and I had. Happy wife, happy life, and all that. I just hadn't realised how 'happy' she was.

"Does she know you're suing me?"

"Not that I know. She called an ambulance when I fell down the steps and fretted the whole time they were there. I heard her telling a neighbour she'd heard me hit by a car on the road outside your place and called in the emergency. She didn't come with me in the ambulance, and I haven't seen or heard from her since."

We chatted for another twenty minutes or so before the nurse came in and gave him some pain meds. After he took them, I actually wished him well. His promise to leave married women alone from now on I believed thoroughly. I'd been young, dumb, and full of cum at one time in my life as well. Thank Christ, I'd grown out of young. One out of three ain't bad, is it?

It was still an hour before I usually returned home so I drove to my favourite local park, via grabbing a good quality cigar from my local tobacconist. Jenny hated me smoking anything but the way I felt right now, she could go fuck herself... again. I sat at a park bench, lit up, and enjoyed the hell out of it. From now on, I promised myself, I'm going to do more of the things I like to do. Screw always putting others' wants before my own.

Simon's revelations explained why Jenny seemed so stressed and worried. Why she didn't want to talk about it. As soon as I returned home from the trip she'd told me the ambulance story, but she must be living in terror of one of the neighbours telling me they'd actually seen the ambos entering the house or that Simon's accident would otherwise reveal her dirty secrets.

With that out of the way, I pondered what to do about my marriage. It took all of fifteen seconds to decide it was dead. Stone dead. That realisation was actually quite liberating. It also allowed me to decide what to do about it all. I'm no lawyer but I'm pretty sure I'll end up paying her a crap load of money to fuck off out of my life and a hefty allowance to keep her in the style to which she'd become accustomed. Unfair, but the Family Court is what it is. I wouldn't be the first husband they fucked over, nor the last.