“You’re a fucking mind reader, Libby,” said Todd, looking delighted.
“Just one of my many talents,” smiled Libby. My slut of a wife teased Todd’s groin through his jeans. “And you know how much your teacher likes you to fuck her in the spa, under all those bubbles.”
They kissed again, Todd’s hand finding its way under Libby’s skirt to her knickers. Libby laughed, lifted up and held out the front of her knickers, allowing Todd to have a perve down there at her pussy. Then the pair of adulterous cheats leaped into the car. Todd started the engine, turned on the headlights before reversing out, and driving ‘The Todd’ away up the trail towards the main road at speed, Libby beside him in the passenger seat.
I remembered reading somewhere that it was unhygienic to have sex in a hot tub, but given what I had observed tonight concerning myself with that was like worrying about a small metal rowboat with nobody on board sinking in waist deep water at a tropical beach, while less than half a mile away the Titanic was sinking into the freezing ocean.
By now it was completely dark, and I had problems with mosquitos as I made my way through the bush back to my own car parked at the tavern. All sorts of emotions went through my head. Anger, jealousy, despair, guilt, loathing and betrayal among them, yet one of the most paradoxical emotions I had was being turned on.
So much so that after I drove back home, I went to my bedroom and making sure I had plenty of tissues on hand, masturbated over the scenes of Todd fucking my wife on the bonnet of his car, all while hating Todd for fucking my wife, Libby for being unfaithful and me for jerking off over it.
I came with a big rush, my dick spraying semen everywhere and after cleaning up and hiding the evidence of my indulgences in solitary pleasures, had a shower and went to bed. I slept pretty soundly, only stirring ever so slightly around 1 am when Libby returned, my ever so faithful and loving wife putting on her nightwear and sliding her bare feet into our marital bed beside me.
*
Libby Larson was Libby Larson on Sunday, carping, controlling and bossy as usual, but on Monday and Tuesday it was obvious that period time was fast approaching for my wife. She was in a foul mood, snapping my head off if she perceived me to be looking at her the wrong way.
My wife with PMS was not a pleasant prospect, and I wondered if toy-boy lover Todd was given a hard time by his hormonal boss at work. She certainly seemed to regard anybody with an XY chromosome structure as her mortal enemy, and unless the very masculine Todd had some very weird DNA his genetics were XY rather than XX.
Libby’s monthly bleed began on Wednesday, and thanks to lingering PMS hormones, severe menstrual cramps, bloating, a very heavy flow and problems with her bowels, her mood did not improve, and in fact was even worse. It was all my fault apparently, but I was used to it. Seemingly I was to blame for all of Libby’s period problems. I looked at Libby’s fitness videos online where she was talking about good diet and exercise practices for menstruating women and girls. She seemed pretty cheerful and relaxed as she spoke to her followers, but I suspected that it had been filmed on the sixth day of her cycle when her flow had reduced to spotting and her cramps were gone, not in the early days of her period. That’s if it was even filmed during Libby’s time of the month at all.
In bed on Wednesday night and early Thursday morning, I found it hard to sleep, my menstruating moving around in her sleep as her tummy cramped. And there should definitely have been some sort of law prohibiting women from consuming tuna, tofu, cabbage and broccoli when menstruating. I was wide awake at around 3.15 am, and my crampy wife rolled over next to me and while half asleep, she farted hard into her period pad before going back into the land of nod, snoring loudly.