Work Spouse Detonation

There's not much dialogue in this one. It's mostly introspective storytelling and a tale of revenge.

>>> >>> >>>

My name is Jake Baxter. It's been a year now since the world as I knew it blew up in my face. I suppose that's not a fair thing to say. The world didn't just blow up; I blew it up myself. I pulled it down around me and I walked away from the destruction. To my credit, I had help. At least 60 cheaters set the charge. I just lit the fuse. My wife was one of those cheaters and I took a perverse pleasure in bringing them all down with her.

Before my great awakening, I was a happy, clueless husband in love with his wife and delighted with our life together. Everything was going great. We'd been married for five years and we had a little place of our own with good friends and neighbors I enjoyed, great jobs, and supportive families. We made more money than we needed and we were saving for the future. The future turned out to be something other than what we planned.

I wish I could tell you something about us or our marriage that could make sense of this story, but the truth is I cannot understand it myself. I married my college sweetheart. She was sweet and kind and funny. She was loving and affectionate. She was never the type to flirt with other men. She didn't dress provocatively and I never doubted she was faithful to me.

I work in a research and engineering lab that designs highly specialized electronics for NASA and the military. We jokingly call it "Geek Central". The thing about most geeks is that we are very complicated at work, but we are very simple at home. What you see is what you get. There is no subterfuge because we're not good at it. A lot of people think that geeks are adolescent. Maybe by their standards we are. We laugh at silly jokes, quote movies and obscure writings, and we're fascinated by the details. Whatever sophistication we possess, it doesn't measure very high in social circles. On the other hand, we know that if we lose our reputation for telling the truth, we are done. Geeks don't lie. Our reputations are our careers and both are built on the truth.

My wife, Jeanie, works in high finance at a firm named Watson and Watson. They are big players in the financial side of major construction projects and they seem to have a hand in many of the biggest projects in the mid-Atlantic states. The office is downtown and Jeanie works with a lot of surprisingly undereducated people. They know money and some of them can program a spread sheet, but I confess that every time I speak with her coworkers I feel like I'm back in high school. This is a true story. Jeanie and I got two kittens; they were brothers. We wanted to name them Lewis and Clark. One of her coworkers actually said, "That's ok, but you really should name them after someone famous." You see what I mean? They're the cool kids and I'm invisible. Jeanie and her coworkers are always working the angles and if it's not written down it doesn't mean anything. I never liked that about them, but I always figured it was her job and not her values. Boy, was I wrong! Where geeks think individually and come together to test their ideas, finance types think collectively. They identify with the group. The only time they think as individuals is when they are looking out for number one and trying to climb the office ladder. I didn't like a lot of them, but I didn't really hate them until the end.

I got the first uncomfortable feeling at the office Christmas party. It was held at the Marriott Hotel across the street from my wife's office. Everyone mingled freely and half the time I didn't know whether I was speaking with an employee or a spouse. The booze was flowing free and while standing by the bar I overhead a woman say, "I'll have to run that past my work husband before I can commit to that."

That was an odd thing to say. I wanted to spin around and see who said it, but I froze instead. A little voice in my head said, "Stop, listen, don't speak. Try to be invisible for just a moment."

"Well, we'll all be off for the next week, but I guess it will keep until then. You know, that's a whole week without crossing the street." Both women laughed.

"You could always have a minor emergency with an account." That got the two of them laughing harder.

What did she mean by "crossing the street"? Were they thinking they had to return to work in the middle of the Christmas party?

I don't know what I was hearing, but it bothered me. I remember thinking, "Boy, did I marry the right woman! Whatever they're thinking, it doesn't sound good." Then I let myself forget about it and returned to the party.

I didn't give it another thought for about the next three weeks. Friday evening I was coming up from our basement on carpeted stairs when I heard my wife say, "Ok, I'll get right on it... Hey, what's a wife for, anyway?" Then she laughed.

Wife? What the hell is that? I round the corner just as Jeanie is hanging up the phone. "What was that all about?" I asked. I did my best to say it without accusation.

She jumped. I surprised her. "Oh, that was Henry Thomas. It's work. I need to get to the office tomorrow and we'll be working some late nights next week. An opportunity has come up to put together a funding package for a new apartment complex they're trying to put up on J Street."

That conversation I overheard at the Christmas party came back to me. "Sounds like a minor emergency with an account." I said.

Jeanie laughed. "I don't know if I'd call it an emergency, but it's an opportunity that's too good to pass up."

"We've both been working hard this year. I was hoping we could relax a little this month and spend more time together."

"Sweetie, don't be like that. You have to grab these things when they present themselves, or you lose them forever. I'll make it up to you."

"What's this `wife' talk? I thought you were my wife. How many husbands do you have?"

A flash of shock crossed her face. She didn't know that I'd heard her. She tried to cover it with a smile. "Just you, silly, it's something we say at the office. We team up to work the projects and sometimes we joke that we see more of our partners at work than we see of our partners at home. It's just a little joke we have. Everybody says it." Jeanie was being assuring to the point of condescension. She was smiling, but her hands were shaking. "I'll just go in for a few hours tomorrow to get the ball rolling and then we'll have the rest of the weekend together." The rest of Friday night was quiet and Jeanie left for the office Saturday morning as if it were a regular work day, except for the casual clothes. "...the rest of the weekend together" didn't start until after 7 PM Saturday night.

Don't get me wrong. I understand hard work and deadlines. I just don't like secrecy and I was sensing there was a lot more secrecy in my marriage than I had suspected. I thought a lot about secrecy that Saturday while I waited for Jeanie to get home. Even though I was always telling her stories about work, or stories I'd heard at work, I began to realize that she never talked about her job. It was like she had two lives, one at work and one at home. I had never before realized just how much she had walled off that part of her life from me.

When my wife finally did get home Saturday night she went straight to the shower and I started some steaks on the grill. I couldn't stop thinking about that "wife" remark. Even if it were innocent, it made me bristle. I didn't like it one damn bit.

Two phrases from that Christmas party kept echoing in my head. One was "work husband" and the other was "crossing the street". Was it literal or figurative? There were two buildings across the street from Jeanie's office. One was a large medical practice. The other was the Marriott. It struck me that a lot of people at that Christmas party seemed to know their way around that hotel remarkably well. I kept telling myself they probably went there for lunch and put clients up there, but in my foul mood I kept imagining a different scenario.

I decided that week I needed to get away from the lab and eat lunch in the car. In the process, my car just happened to get parked a block up the street from where my wife worked and I just happened to have a great view of the street between her office and the Marriott. What I saw I did not like. At about 11:45 Monday morning, just shortly before lunch, about a half dozen couples crossed the street and entering the Marriott. At about 12:30 I could see the same couples walking back to their offices. There was not one group of 3 or 4 women going to lunch together -- just couples. I didn't see my wife among them, but I wasn't happy. I saw the same thing Tuesday -- different couples, but the same behavior. I knew I couldn't go into the Marriott and watch the lobby. Too many people could recognize me, not the least being my wife if she saw me. I needed help.

I never in my wildest dreams or nightmares thought I would do what I did next. That same afternoon I hired a private detective named Harvey Mattison. I told him what I knew and what I needed to know, and then I gave him a photograph of my Jeanie. He told me to do the most impossible thing imaginable. He said, "Don't think about it. Just get back to your life and act normal. It's probably nothing; and if it is something you'll know soon. I told him that I hoped I was wasting my money and I returned to work.

I wasn't wasting my money. Thursday morning Harvey sat me down in his office to give me the bad news. My wife walked into the Marriott lobby at 11:45 on Wednesday morning with Henry Thomas' arm around her waist. They stopped at the desk just long enough to get the key and went straight to the fourth floor. They did not return until almost 12:40.

Harvey Mattison had a short and very confidential conversation with the desk clerk. My wife and her work husband were regular visitors to the hotel. Harvey's conversation with the front desk cost me a quick $300 and Harvey warned me that it was just a down payment. I wanted iron clad evidence and that meant video from inside the room. I hated myself for what I was thinking, but my thoughts for my wife were turning very dark very fast. To get what I wanted, the desk clerk would need to cooperate. Harvey would need to know what room Jeanie and her work husband would be using. Then he would rent the same room immediately before and immediately after their next visit allowing Harvey to install a small video camera in the room. That meant two room rentals and a bribe. I could afford it and I paid it.

I had a bad seven days. I was trying to avoid Jeanie as much as possible, but she was asking me why I was acting so strangely. I just told her it was work, but I doubt I was fooling her. She wanted to make love and I told myself that if I hadn't caught anything yet I probably wouldn't, so we did. My heart wasn't in it. My dick only barely was. My only emotions were anger and pain. I felt like my marriage was dying and I still had very little evidence with no explanation. I knew she was cheating, but I tried to tell myself not to judge until we had the room video. I had to see it to be sure.

Harvey got the call from the clerk and rented the room for the next Wednesday morning and evening. I went to his office Thursday morning. Now I had the evidence and the broken heart that went with it. I watched a 40 minute video of my loving wife, the center of my universe, having sex with her "work husband" Henry Thomas. The world as I knew it was ended.

A geek's mind runs in strange directions sometimes. I remembered the old joke about the husband who comes home to find his wife cheating on him. He puts a gun to his head and says, "Don't laugh! You're next!" I promised myself to do things in their proper order. They would pay and I would walk away.

Before that, I needed to get away for a few days. I could not be in the same house with her. I spoke with my boss and arranged for the rest of the week off. If anyone asked, I was needed down at Wallops for the weekend. I went home, packed a bag, left a note, and headed west. I had a childhood friend, David, who lived about an hour past Baltimore and he agreed to put me up for the weekend. I counted my blessings that I did not cross paths with Jeanie while I was home. I don't know what I would have done, but I was in no shape to "act normal". I needed time to think, to plan, and most of all to calm down.

You know something? Leaving that note was the first time that I ever lied to my wife. I actually felt bad about it, but I had to get away and I wasn't about to tip my hand just yet.

>>> >>> >>>

The drive west gave me a little time to think. Did I really know this woman? Was she so good at compartmentalizing her life that she could rationalize having two husbands? I knew one thing for sure: my wife had confused trusting for stupid. I was never stupid and lying to a husband who trusts you completely is no great trick at all. Now the days of trust were behind me. My marriage was dead and all that remained was the funeral.

The thing about childhood friends is that they know you completely. They knew who you were then, who you are now, and what you're thinking all the time. You can't hide from them. My friend read my face not two minutes after I walked through his door. I told him the news and like good friends are supposed to do, he got as angry as I already was. It was his wife, Marie, who tried to calm us both down and make us think. She didn't defend Jeanie; she just wanted me to know for certain what I wanted and not go off half cocked.

Make no mistake, for a true understanding of the social contract you need a woman's point of view. Where I was angry at my wife and her work husband, her focus was on all the other women who worked in that shop. In her mind, it's the women that control sex and every woman there was either participating in the behavior or turning a blind eye to it. She said, "Men are pigs and it's up to the women to civilize them." Then she smiled at her husband who reluctantly agreed.

"I want to bring them all down. I'm divorcing my wife, that lying, cheating slut. She's betrayed me and obviously not for the first time, but I want to hurt them all. I want to make her Mr. Henry Thomas wish he was never born with a dick and I want every cheater in that office to regret every day they crossed that road to cheat."

Marie was trying to talk sense to me. "Make very sure you're ready for the fallout. There may be a reason for this that you don't know. Maybe she'll regret her actions so much that she'll never do it again. You loved this woman enough to marry her. Do you want to throw it all away now? Think about it."

I pulled out the video and they watched it with me. Henry Thomas was a paper pusher. His work was the business of money. Where I went running after work, he went to expensive restaurants. Henry Thomas was soft. For forty minutes we watched my wife give herself to her work husband. She was naked, standing, and slid down his chest, wrapping her lips around his dick, and slurped it like a popsicle. Then smiling, she laid on her back, spread her legs, and took his mediocre dick, balls to the wall. It was humiliating. She was smiling, even laughing, but I was dying. Henry Thomas wasn't anything special. He didn't have a horse cock. He didn't last forever. He wasn't even particularly rhythmic. He just slammed an average dick into my loving wife, and she acted like they were making a porn video. The odd thing was that most of the conversation centered on work. As they got undressed they talked about the ongoing project and as they got dressed later they talked about the afternoon schedule. Once he recovered from a fast round one, she took him cowgirl for round two. She bounced on his cock like a little girl on a beach ball and squealed just as loud. The video captured the look of ecstasy on his face as he unloaded into my wife. They never used a condom.

When the video ended there was silence in the room. I turned to Marie and asked, "How long should I think about it?"

She just shook her head, hugged me, and started preparing dinner.

David grew up to be a lawyer. I know, but he's a friend, so I forgave him. His wife teaches high school science. Both have surprisingly analytical minds. We talked a lot that weekend and with their help I formulated a plan. I called Harvey and filled him in on what I wanted. It was going to cost me, but if I was patient it could be done.

We decided to divide my wife's office into two groups. There was management and those who worked closely with Jeanie. That was one group of about 10 people plus their work spouses. I wanted them to be not just burned; I wanted them incinerated. The rest would feel the heat, but I wouldn't spend my savings burning them. Harvey would get video cameras into the rooms of management and the targeted coworkers. The rest would be filmed coming and going through the lobby. When I was ready to file the divorce papers, I would sue the company and share what I had with the spouse of every employee there.

I spent a lot of time that weekend wondering if I'd missed the signs. There must have been signs. She never seemed unloving. She was supportive when I described my work. Could she really live two lives without guilt? Was she a sociopath? Her nervous reaction when I asked her about the "wife" remark that first Friday told me she knew right from wrong, or at least she knew there could be consequences for her actions. I couldn't figure out how anyone could live two lives without a nervous breakdown.

Sometime during the course of the weekend it occurred to me that by leaving town I had given Jeanie and her work husband the perfect opportunity to use our home for their tryst. I thought about it, got mad, and then realized it did not matter one bit. I was divorcing her regardless of her actions now. I'd leave her the damn bed just in case and take what I wanted of the rest.

I steeled myself for the coming deception and I drove home Sunday night.

>>> >>> >>>

In order to save a few bucks, we decided not to video any of the work spouses in their hotel rooms more than once. The exception would be my wife and her Mr. Thomas. That cut down on the room rentals and it would just be two hours each day for Harvey's people. Where Jeanie was concerned, I wanted to cut off any claim of "it was only the one time."

It took just two weeks to get all that I wanted. I hated those weeks. I know that some will say, "Wasn't once enough?" Sure it was; but I wanted revenge on the entire office, everyone who knew my wife was cheating and said nothing to me, and that took a little longer. Most work spouses seemed to sneak away once each week; a few crossed the street more often, and some maybe less. We didn't catch them all, but we caught enough. Jeanie and her work husband were on an "every Wednesday" schedule. I decided to work late a lot of nights, but that wasn't enough. It hurt too much to be home. I arranged another emergency trip to Wallops on Thursday, but in reality I stayed at a hotel near work that night. Friday night I drove west to visit David and Marie again and then Monday night I stayed at the hotel again.

Jeanie began to complain that I was ignoring her, and at least for my part the relationship turned frosty. She had no idea how frosty. For whatever reason, she tried to keep up a normal relationship at home, but I wasn't much help and it began to show in her overall demeanor. I started sleeping in the guest room and getting out of the house early. I could have my deadlines at work, too. She may have thought that our marriage was in trouble, or maybe she bought my excuses, or maybe she just didn't care. Either way, it didn't stop her Wednesday lunches with her work husband. If anything, their lunch breaks got longer. At least two thirds of the employees at her company were cheating on their spouses including most of the senior staff. I guess it's true what they say about a fish rotting from its head.