Revelations

You know, the truth is, I always had a soft spot for you in spite of our age difference. Whether it was watching you at work or watching you being busy during your children's birthday party, I always had a strong affection for you. Perhaps in many ways you reminded me of my younger days when my kids were at home and Martha and I had our hands full. Those special touches and naughty whispers that you girls in the office gossiped and laughed about were really meant for you alone. I said those things to the other girls just to cover my tracks. It seemed it worked out okay as whenever you girls in the office would exchange notes my naughtiness would figure high and you all laugh it away as an old man's senility.

And then after I was left alone in this world, I saw another side of you, a caring and loving side. Have you ever wondered what the symbol representing womanhood (a full circle with an equilateral cross) signifies? Well, let me tell you: the circle represents spirit and the cross represents matter. And you, my dear Vanessa, are the epitome of womanhood. You nurtured this fatally wounded soul back to health, giving it a reason for living. If Martha is watching me write these last words to you, I'm sure she wholeheartedly agrees.

And the physical intimacy that you shared with me? It was fantastic! You were always so alive, filled with energy (and naughty tricks). Even the Playboy girls could learn a thing or two from you. In short, you are the epitome of womanhood, in spirit, in mind, and definitely in body too. May the Lord fill each minute and second of your life with happiness and good health! You love children and I hope the Lord gives you many more of the cuddly young 'uns.

Well, Pretty Petals, it's taking quite an effort to pen my eternal gratefulness to you. Let me come to my main reasons for writing this letter to you. The first reason you have perhaps already guessed by looking at the stack of photos and CD's enclosed with this letter in the parcel. Yes, you guessed right. These are memories of our togetherness. Please forgive me for this voyeuristic streak in me but you know me so well that perhaps you were already aware of it though you never spoke about it. Well, I had cameras strategically fixed in my office and home. But rest assured I've never shared these memories of our togetherness with anyone, not even with some of the ladies with whom I shared friendship ... that too at your behest and you know all about them. With my end near, I could not bear to burn them so I'm sending them to you. Please keep them close to your heart forever as I have.

And now for the other reason. Darling, my lawyers will be shortly getting in touch with you about a cheque for two million dollars made out in your favour. Remember that trip we took to Miami for two days? We had sailed out of the harbour and lived totally nude under the open, blue skies? (Sigh.) that's one trip I wish I had taken my surveillance camera also. We snorkelled in the nude then spent the whole lazy afternoon making love on the open deck. Then we would prepare dinner, get drunk, and then again make love in the living quarters. Those were great moments we shared together. You may also remember that on the last day we visited an art gallery and you selected some portraits. Well, my Pretty Petals, they are now estimated to be worth close to a couple of million dollars and I don't think I should pass that on to any of my children. I have instructed my lawyers to get a fair price for them and send the full proceeds over to you. If you wish, you can send your bank details to my lawyer and he will have them electronically transferred to your bank account.

Well, I think I have said all that I wanted to. My dearest Pretty Petals, I again wish all the very best in life to you.

Take care.

Forever indebted to you,

Peachie

The letter slipped out of his lifeless fingers and floated down to rest near his feet. The letter left very little for one's imagination. His wife of over thirty years had had an affair with her boss back in Dallas. And he never ever suspected anything was amiss! An incident came floating back from distant memory. Harry and Martha had been quite the party-going types and used to throw parties every now and then. Like all the parties given before, this too was a grand success. It was getting late and he had begun looking around to catch hold of his wife as she had had too much to drink and he didn't want to have any problems while driving home. She was not to be seen in the living room and neither was she in the kitchen. He stepped out onto the patio and stopped short. His wife was with her boss in one dark corner of the patio. Harry had his arms around her waist and had pulled her close to himself. He was leaning close to her and seemed to be whispering into her ear. Vanessa, as far as he could tell, didn't seem to mind the closeness and had a smile playing upon her lips. Since it was dark and they were a bit far off he couldn't be sure but it seemed Harry's hips were moving as though he was dry humping his wife! He didn't like it one bit. His foot must have nudged something because, on hearing the sound, Harry immediately stepped back to a more dignified distance. Victor approached them and spoke as though he hadn't noticed anything. His wife, he noticed, had gone a bit reddish in the face and it certainly had nothing to do with the drinks.

Later, back in the car, he let her know what he thought he had seen and asked for her confirmation. Although she didn't deny anything outright, she brushed away his misgivings by telling him that Harry got frisky with just about all the girls, especially after a couple of drinks.

"With all due respect to Martha, one look at her and you'll understand why he gets so cheeky and grabby at parties" was what his wife had said that night with an impish smile. Anyway, she assured him that it was something she could handle. That night they had had great sex and by the next morning, all misgivings had been forgotten by Victor; that is until now.

Victor remembered Martha; she had always worn her hair short and perhaps in looks was very similar in build and style to the wife of that general who was in the news nowadays for other than battle victories. His tenure certainly didn't see the nailing down of the dreaded terrorists overseas but he had definitely nailed something much juicier.

Just as Harry had nailed his wife. He picked up his smart phone and began thumbing thru the pics he had scanned and loaded on his laptop as well as his mobile. There were pics of them doing it in the office. He did not have a longer cock but it was much thicker. He remembered telling his wife rather proudly that he had an "athletic cock" to serve her needs, neither very long nor too thick. They had been to some nudist camps and Vanessa had got around to jokingly comparing his with all the others on view. She did seem to have a happy look back then but now he was not sure if perhaps she had always had a craving for the thicker ones.

Perhaps he would ask her now ... not that it mattered much. Her preferences were obvious in the pictures. Harry invariably had his trousers and boxers off in his office for their quick lunch sessions as discernible from the time shown by the wall clock. One picture showed Harry leaning back on his office chair while his wife played with his thick long shaft. He had his eyes closed while Vanessa seemed to be staring with a mesmerised look on her face. Another picture showed her with her blouse and her bra pushed up to reveal her round, juicy boobs with their nipples pointing straight ahead in total arousal. The next one sickened him. His wife was again topless and Harry seemed to have shot his cum all over her face. He could see his cum on her lips, on her boobs, and some even sticking to her hair. They were both laughing and she seemed to be shaking and squeezing his cock for the last drops of cum. As he tapped on his smart phone's touch screen to increase the size of the picture, he noticed the date on the table calendar; it was almost six months after the passing away of Martha and a year before they moved to Houston.

Martha had been diagnosed with cancer of the liver. The excessive partying had finally taken its toll. The diagnosis had come too late and the cancer was in an advanced stage; she passed away six months later. Her death had changed Harry. As far as Victor could recollect there were no more parties attended by them at his place but by then he had started an affair with his wife; he really didn't need to party anymore to dry hump his wife. For almost one full bloody year they continued fucking each other and he didn't have any inkling whatsoever! He felt his chest tighten and the bile rising to his mouth. He was a cuckold just like that doctor in the General's downfall!

"What was the General's wife thinking right now?" thought Victor. She had been humiliated in pubic eyes by the very man for whose family she had selflessly sacrificed everything. For over thirty years she had stood like a shadow behind him, encouraging him to take on the toughest of assignments on behalf of the nation, knowing full well the difficulties she and their family would have to endure.

"What was she thinking now?" he repeated to himself, as though the answer to his pain and humiliation lay in her thoughts and actions. She was in the same age bracket as him and at their age, one looked forward to a simple life after retirement, grandchildren, and watching the sun go down in the west with one's partner beside him or her. The last thing to cross one's mind would be about a cheating spouse and its ramifications, its pain and humiliation. The General's wife had selflessly served her family and it showed in her appearance. She certainly could not give competition to a mother of two young kids who would be basking in the afterglow and beauty that comes along with the delivery of a child.

"And the cuckold, what's he thinking about? He thought his wife was travelling all over the globe to give the final touches to the biography of one of the finest soldiers their nation had produced but now it seems she was also getting nailed by him at different places and locations across the globe." He smiled belatedly at the fact that he was not alone in his hour of deceit and pain.

Before he could contemplate moving to the bathroom, he heard soft footsteps approaching his study room. He wiped away his tears and tried to suppress the urge to vomit. He may be a cuckold but he was not going to allow his cheating wife to see the humiliation on his face. He put on his specs and bravely faced the door to his study.

The door swung open silently and Vanessa walked in as though on tiptoes. She stood looking at him silently. Victor stared back, trying his very best not to blink or shed a tear. The bile was still there, somewhere near his mouth. He could recognise its rancid odour. He took a deep breath and counted to ten backwards before speaking.

"The parcel was marked to V. Brown and was from Dallas so I mistakenly presumed it was for me," he said in as steady a voice as he could muster up.

She had been crying. Her makeup was completely wrecked by the tears that had made tracks down her face while her neatly styled hair wore a dishevelled look as though she had just got up from bed and come directly to the study. She nodded her head and sat down in the only other chair in the study. It was across from him and to one side. He kept looking at his wife. She in turn would glance at him and then go back to staring at the wall over his shoulder as though it contained some vital, hidden hieroglyphics which could help them through their current crisis.

What should one say to one's wife of thirty-plus years? What should a mature man of almost sixty years say to his cheating wife? They had seen life together, all its surprises and all its ups and downs. He was old and he was not going to live forever; that was Nature's way of doing things. The next generation, their grandchildren, had already arrived in this world to continue their lineage long after they were just memories. So, just how should one confront the grandmother of one's grandchildren? How should he seek justification for the insult and humiliation heaped upon him? Why did she kill him without killing him? Why?

"Victor, I ... I'm ... this may sound trite but it's not what you think ..." she began nervously and then stopped as words failed her. Not what I think? That's it? Eight years back, a mature mid-forty-something married woman cheats on her husband, her family, and her commitments and now says it's not what I think it is in her defence? For almost a year! It was not a one-night stand but had continued for many months.

In one of the scenes on the CD his wife had been dressed as a Playboy bunny with a fitted corset and just a bright red thong to cover her womanhood. As the CD played he saw Harry just move aside the wet thong and plunge in his thick manhood into her wet slit from behind. He had stared at their fornication for some minutes before turning away in shame and humiliation. But Harry had still been going strong. The old fart had stamina, that's for sure. Victor had never felt so low and bad before and perhaps it showed on his face because he could see his wife cringe and shrink back into her chair, guilty of something he had never before thought possible.

At least that doctor in the news did not have any CD's to see his wife fucking the General, he thought bitterly. The images of his wife dressed as a bunny with her glazed eyes wide open in pleasure and her big juicy boobs jiggling in response to the thrusting from behind just wouldn't go away. There were other clips equally as erotic. The old fart had real good taping techniques. He wondered whether the General had also made CD's of himself with his mistress at different locations across the globe.

"I ... we ... it was not deliberate or planned. After Martha's death, we at the office noticed that Harry was losing grip of himself. He was devastated by her death," said Vanessa in her second attempt to start a sensible dialogue between them. Victor nodded in agreement; he was aware of it as well as many others who knew Harry. It had all happened so fast. In just six months from the diagnosis, Martha had moved on. In those six months Harry had changed doctors, flown her out to bigger and better medical institutes, but even the best of the doctors could not prevent the inevitable.

He remembered Vanessa telling him how they would leave some papers on the table for him and when they would come in later, they would find them undisturbed and Harry just sitting staring at his laptop screen. On their insistence, he had visited doctors who prescribed some sedatives.

"He ... he ... it was as if he had lost the will to live. The medication prescribed by the doctors helped. He once again began taking interest. At the same time, we at the office also made it a point to be around him as often as possible. The idea was to keep his mind preoccupied with office matters so that he didn't have time to start thinking about his loss.

But it soon became obvious that, although he acknowledged our concern for him, and although he was surely doing his best, he was just not there with us. Now the problem was that, as head of the business, Harry was also our chief negotiator. He was good at it. But now he seemed to be losing his touch. Like I said, he just didn't seem to be there with us anymore," said Vanessa.

Victor looked at the dishevelled face of his wife. All that she had just said was something he had been broadly aware of in those days but he couldn't understand how it related to her affair.

"That was when some of the senior members of the company had a small meeting with Harry. It was decided that he would have a company aide with him during these important meetings with clients," said Vanessa. She stopped to see how her husband was taking this all in. Victor looked back quizzically at her. He wondered where this was all going.

"I was appointed as Harry's aide," continued Vanessa. As she said those lines, Vanessa looked back at her husband with a look of ... what? A defensive but at the same time defiant look. Victor leaned forward, his interest rising.

"I made it a point to ensure that Harry got all the input he required from all the departments for any upcoming meeting. This called for a lot of networking with department heads and their staff. It also required that I develop some kind of an understanding of the work undertaken by all the departments. By this time, Harry had begun to get more and more involved. That was a good sign for us. He then coached me about the functioning of some of the departments and the basic but essential parameters I had to ask for and ensure. Things began clicking and business began improving. We worked as a team. I began accompanying him to all the client meetings, even out of town," she continued, eyeing her husband warily as she mentioned her out-of-town meetings.

By now, Victor had begun to understand some things but he didn't interrupt his wife, preferring that she tell her part of the story.

"Eventually I had more or less assumed the de facto post of his chief advisor. The business began improving and we were successful in stopping the southward movement in sales. In fact, I had made it my duty to ensure that he did not miss his medications also. His total reliance on me was apparent to one and all and it made me feel proud that I had succeeded in pulling the company back from the brink of catastrophe," continued Vanessa with a look of ill concealed pride on her face, her eyes having a faraway look as she recalled the past events.

Victor continued watching his wife but with a sharper eye. The bile was again threatening to ruin the composed look on his face and the severe constriction was back in his chest. His analytical technocrat mind had already grasped a lot and was way ahead of the storyline unfolding between bursts of tears and sobs.

"So you became his concubine," he retorted aloud, remembering one of the terms being lavishly used by the press in describing the fallen General's married lover.

Vanessa jerked back as though struck hard. Her face turned a crimson red at the insult and anger flashed from her wide open eyes. "Don't you dare call me names," she said angrily. She had her arms wrapped tightly across her chest and was breathing hard.

Victor looked on in amusement. He began wondering just how his wife looked upon herself and the selfless yeoman service she had rendered. "Names? Of course not! How could you ever think of that? In the Roman days, a concubine enjoyed almost the same rights as a wife. In fact, the word concubine was even inscribed on tombstones. Of course, a man was considered dishonoured if the concubine went on to have relationships with another man," shot back Harry. Somehow he was enjoying the discomfort being felt by his wife. Even the bile didn't seem to be threatening him so much now.

The silent standoff continued between the two until she finally uttered, "I was not a concubine."

"Why don't you continue," Victor wearily replied.

"Like I said, Harry had more or less become dependent upon me. From the time he came to the office to the time he left, he was with me. This also helped in improving my negotiating skills, thru observing Harry and also thru the tips he gave me from time to time."

Vanessa then paused, as though collecting her thoughts. The real story starts now, thought Victor grimly.

"But he was still a lost soul. Sometimes when we would be having dinner at the hotel restaurant during our out-of-town client visits, he would gaze at the couples sitting at the nearby tables with a reminiscent but sad look in his eyes. And then once, we were on the dance floor doing a slow number and we came close together and he rubbed against me. I realised that he had a hard-on. I looked at him in embarrassment and realised that he had been looking at a real cute couple across the floor. He again had a lost, forlorn look and hadn't realised that he had been pushing his thingy against me," she said in more or less one long breath.