Finally I looked down St Kilda Road at all the plane trees starting to shed their leaves, the Domain Gardens and the tall spire of the Melbourne Arts Center. So many interesting sights to see, but I saw so few of them. Instead all I saw was her with him in the hotel room, lifting up her skirt, taking her white knickers down and inserting his penis up her vagina.
Burning with frustration and jealousy, I turned and walked back to Flinders Street Station and went to catch my train back to Melbourne’s eastern suburbs where I lived. Waiting on the platform, I saw a train approaching from the Southern Cross Station, and wondered if he had gotten off the train at that location to meet her, or if he had caught a tram, bus or driven into the city. My train arrived and I got on, watching the city passing by as we departed. I wondered what he and she were doing at this moment. Having a shower together post coitus, no doubt.
When I reached my stop, I alighted the train and walked back to my house and went inside. My house was decorated with pictures of her and I looked at them, then picked up one of her best-selling books, leafing through it and staring at all the pictures of her. I took out a notebook, writing down the times of where she had been today before they faded from my mind.
Going upstairs I retrieved a pair of white female bikini-style panties with pink flowers from a clothes hamper. The knickers showed the creamy colored feminine stains from the owner’s vagina, and I raised them to my nose, the odor of pussy from the double cotton saddle going into my nostrils. I sniffed the back panel of the panties, absorbing her the smells from where the knickers would have gone between the cheeks of her bottom and made contact with her anus.
They were her panties, she put them on to cover her bottom and her box. So what was I doing with them? Was I a stalker crazy enough to break into her house to steal her dirty underwear and smell it later? No. I didn’t have to commit any break and enter offense to obtain her knickers, I could get my hands on them most any time I wanted.
How was that? One of the photographs I had of her, in the bedroom was one of her on her wedding day. True, it was taken 14 years in the past in the year 2001, a time before September 11 when the world was a very different place from the current year of 2015. In it she wore a white wedding dress and looked stunning, and why wouldn’t she? She was the bride after all.
Next to her stood her bridegroom in a smart suit, his brown hair and brown eyes contrasting with the blonde hair and blue eyes of his new wife. The groom’s face was my younger face. Had I used some sort of technology to superimpose my face into one of her wedding day photographs?
Again no. I didn’t need to superimpose any images on her wedding day photographs because I was the groom. Her name was Libby Jane Larson and she was my wife. My name was Jeff Richard Jennings and I was her husband. And him, the dirt bag screwing around with my wife and turning me into a cuckold? His name was Todd Lewis Patrick. So how did we end up in this mess, with me stalking my unfaithful wife and her lover and sniffing her dirty panties from the clothes hamper? Like with any story, it is best to start at the beginning.
*
Libby and I first met early in the year 1998 as young graduate high school teachers sent out into the classroom for the first time, and the high school we were assigned to was not going to win any awards as Melbourne’s greatest. I was understandably nervous as hell as a young social studies teacher seeing how students would react to a guy not that much older than them teaching them geography, history, economics and accounting.
Much less nervous than me was the new PE teacher, pretty blonde haired, blue eyed Libby Larson, whose slim, fit five foot six body was perfect in every way. Libby was confident, boy was she confident, and I noticed that she would instruct older male gym teachers on things, rather than the other way around as it should have been given Libby was a graduate.
She most certainly got results as a PE teacher, and I noticed that the boys were very interested in the pretty young blonde wearing her tight lycra leggings or her very short shorts worn with fitness tops that showed a nice cleavage. I was most interested in her too, but figured that a girl as hot as Libby wouldn’t even notice me.
To my surprise, Libby did take an interest in me when we were assigned to be the teachers on duty one lunchtime. We had a bit in common, both born in 1976 and each one of four kids, two boys and two girls and were both into health and fitness, although Libby decidedly more than me. Although I had always said I would never get into a workplace romance, I forgot all about this with Libby and just three years later we exchanged our wedding vows.
By this time however we were not working at the same school anymore. An exclusive private school where if you had to ask how much it cost to send your son or daughter there then you could not afford the tuition fees had heard all about this star young female sports teacher and poached Libby to add to the many trophies in their sporting cabinet.
I couldn’t believe that I had married the girl of my dreams, but my parents, siblings and other relatives were not so happy with the situation. They didn’t like Libby all that much, calling her bossy, controlling, fussy, self-absorbed, overly competitive, egocentric and rude. It caused them much disquiet that Libby retained her maiden name of Larson rather than changing it to Jennings when we married. I ignored the warnings and could not see a single thing wrong with my beautiful bride.
How I wished as the honeymoon period ended and the rose colored haze through which I observed Libby evaporated that I had heeded their warnings. Now it was many years too late. In some ways we were compatible, for example neither of us wanted kids. As high school teachers, we had seen what would be dealing with when the aforementioned kids became teenagers, which was bad enough at work but having to deal with this at home — no thanks. Plus there was the sleepless nights of screaming babies and trying to control toddlers and younger kids with minds of their own. Again, no thanks.
Libby seemed happy enough with her job as a high school PE teacher for a time, but then her focus began to shift to personal training, fitness programs and nutrition, Libby studying the latter at night school during the early 2000s. Things progressed quickly for Libby after making her career change from 2007 to owning a gym along with her likewise health and fitness obsessed family by 2010. Thanks to social media, things moved even faster and now five years on my wife was a star of the fitness world, well known around Australia and New Zealand, and boasting followers from other countries too.
Now Libby’s family owned a number of gyms around Melbourne and four more in regional cities Geelong, Ballarat, Bendigo and Traralgon. Membership was overflowing thanks to my wife’s celebrity status. Libby was the driving force and the leader of the company, and also the public face, the cash cow. With her good looks and drive, Libby was a star on both mainstream and social media, and had an almost cult-like following.