Although this story could possibly stand alone, it was written as the sequel to “The ‘Do Nothing’ Option”, and I strongly recommend that you read them in order. Or not, whatever, you do you.
As this story is published in the feral swamp that is the ‘Loving Wives’ category, I expect the following;
Some readers may appreciate my attempt to follow an adulterer’s emotional journey after being outed and rejected. Whether they enjoy the story or not is up to them.
Some readers will negatively critique my narrative on the basis that cheaters have no self awareness and cannot ever be redeemed, under any circumstances. Whatever…
And, sigh, some readers will leave barely coherent diatribes aimed at most women, not mommy obviously, calling them whores, sluts, cunts, cum dumps, etc. I will also be the target of their venom for not having Tina die an agonising death, preferably alone in a squalid hovel, from something like radioactive herpes. Again; whatever…
Commenters in Category 3 please note, I am not your therapist. I have no duty of client confidentiality to you, therefore I am totally within my rights to take any deranged comments down the pub for our regular, “Spot the personality disorder” game. You have been warned.
All the characters in the story are made up and obviously over 18.
February
My forenames are Christina Annabelle, but everyone calls me Tina. Well, not quite everyone; but I’ll explain why later in the story. I won’t share my family name. My father says that it’s been dragged through the mud so much that it couldn’t get any more tarnished, but I won’t risk making things worse. I’ve done enough harm already.
I’m quite pretty, 5’2″ tall, slim, with nice C cup boobs, short brown hair and brown eyes. I’m 25 and recently divorced. I’ve been having counselling since July, and my therapist has recently suggested that writing out my story honestly will help me come to terms with the consequences of my actions.
It started about this time last year when a colleague, Sophia, asked me for a favour. My initial response was quite guarded; it’s not like we were particularly close. Anyway, she said that she and her partner, John, were ‘in a bad place’ and she’d decided to see other men. She wanted a friend to provide her with an alibi for her assignations. That was my first missed opportunity. If I had told her to fuck off, the way the other girls had, then I’d still be married. I didn’t though, so that’s on me, not her. Though I still fucking hate the bitch for asking.
So, in the the absence of an outright refusal, she kept pestering me, saying that all she needed me to do was to agree with her if John ever asked if she and I were out together. I didn’t know her partner, and Sophia said he was being a jerk and deserved it, so I said yes. Why? Why did I agree to lie for someone to help them cheat on their partner? No idea. Even if she’d been my best friend I should have said no. I was brought up better than that; so I failed as a daughter too, as well as a wife.
Sophia kept me up to date on her ‘dalliances’ and despite my reservations, I was intrigued. How was she finding these men without going out clubbing to pick them up? John would certainly have noticed that. So I asked her. Five paragraphs in, and I’ve already lost count of the ways I fucked up. What a fucking specimen I am!
So, excited at me showing an interest, she pulled out her phone and logged into this website, Infinidelity.com it was called, and she told me how people in relationships could register with the site to find singles to have sex with, no strings attached. Then she smirked and said, “Unless you actually do want to be tied up.”
I was disgusted, partly at the fact such a site existed and partly that someone I knew would even think of using it. But then, a couple of times a week, she’d show me the guys that matched with her profile. Some of them were really cute. I asked her if she wasn’t worried that John would find out somehow.
“No,” she told me. “The members who are in relationships have private profiles and they only reveal them to singles if they want to follow up on a match. So, if a single guy says he wants to meet a tall, blue eyed blonde in her thirties within a 30 mile radius, I’ll get a notification. I can check his profile and, if I’m interested, I can message him. Even if one of John’s family or friends was on the site and turned out to be a match, I could just ignore them and they’d never know it was me.”
By the middle of March, Sophia had fucked six different men and bragged about every one of them to me. She never mentioned it to anyone else in the office, though I think that a couple of the older women suspected something. One even took me to one side and suggested that I put a bit of distance between me and Sophia, but I ignored her. Clever, huh?
By the middle of April I was starting to be intrigued by the type of response I might get if I registered. It wasn’t that I was unhappy with Pete, my husband. I just wondered… And, having read what I’ve just written, I realise that I’ve not only made it clear what a self obsessed bitch I was, it appears that I still am. Fuck! I started this story by writing about what happened last February and I’ve now got to April and this is the first mention of my poor husband. What. A. Bitch! I’ll have to break off now. I can’t see the keyboard well enough to go on…
It’s okay. I’ve got a hold of myself now. It’s just that I keep breaking down in tears when I think of Pete, our plans and what I’ve done to him. Pete was my husband. Tall, strong, intelligent, hard working, way better looking than he gave himself credit for and a wonderful lover. That’s what’s so fucking insane. If he’d been a dud in bed, perhaps, just perhaps, I’d have had some excuse: it would have been a shitty excuse, but I don’t even have that.
He’s 27 now. I didn’t send him a birthday card this year. Partly because I don’t know where he’s living any more, though I could have posted one to his dad’s home, but mainly because I know he’d have shredded it and probably posted the bits back to me to make the point. I’d have deserved it too. Anyway, how would I have signed it; “Love Tina”?
So, you’ve guessed it. By the middle of April, I’ve registered, paid the subscription and created a profile; ‘Little Miss Annie’, from Annabelle, my middle name. Mum was not happy about that when she eventually found out from Pete. I think that her exact words were, “You fucking dared to use the name I gave you in memory of my mother to find fuck-buddies!?”
I had never in my entire life heard her use the *F* word up until that point, and she used it twice in the same sentence; about me. I’m obviously not the Golden Child any more. It’s equally obvious that I never should have been.
Of course, I only registered to see what type of matches I’d get; or at least, that’s what I tried to convince myself. As my dad later pointed out, at length, most folk don’t pay a £30 subscription out of idle curiosity. He’s right, of course. I can’t tell you exactly when it happened, but by then I think I had already decided to fuck a stranger to see what it felt like. Was I classy, or what?
Inevitably, within a few days, I got a notification from the site. A single man in his thirties had specified a preference that matched my profile. I was horrified and exhilarated at the same time. Up until that point, it was a game; nothing had happened; it was just a silly prank. I wasn’t serious about cheating; I loved my husband and we were saving up for the perfect house to raise our perfect children.
But it couldn’t hurt to look at the guy’s profile, could it? His profile picture showed a good looking guy, not as handsome as Pete, but older and more mature. He said his name was Eric and he was doing some consulting work in the area and didn’t have the time or inclination to get to meet women in pubs or clubs. He said if there were any cute married women that were willing to meet him in his hotel for straight sex with no ties, expectations or drama, to let him know.
Up until that point, I could have backed away, deleted my account and counted my blessings. I messaged Eric instead, and shared my profile. Why? I’ll tell you later.
He must have liked what he saw because he messaged back the same afternoon.
**Fuck! Annie, you’re a babe. I’d love to see you naked.**
**Any evening this week after six. You choose**
**If you don’t want to be seen I’ll have food and drink delivered**
It’s stupid, now I think of it. Pete loved me, respected me, deferred to my every want, and there I was, sitting in a toilet cubicle at work mopping a damp patch in my knickers because a guy I’d never met wanted to fuck me.
It was probably then that I separated Tina and Annie in my mind. Tina was the devoted and respectable working wife; Annie was the uninhibited wild child. Or, as I choose to think of her now, a slut. Don’t misunderstand: I’m not claiming some sort of multiple personality disorder as an excuse. Pete had explained to me that, as a supervisor, he adopted a persona at work to deal with staff as subordinates rather than friends. At home he was just Pete.
I adopted the persona of Annie to fuck Eric and I did; fuck him I mean. At home I was just Tina: at first, anyway. What was the sex with Eric like? Mechanically, it was okay. We drank, we undressed, he kissed me, he went down on me, I sucked his dick and then he fucked me. We had another drink while he complimented me, I went to the bathroom, came out and sucked his dick until he was hard again, he fucked me till I came then I dressed and left.
He didn’t have a massive dick or anything; he wasn’t even as good as Pete. But he wasn’t Pete! That was the point. it was wrong, forbidden, and that’s what turned me on so much.
The next two guys were much the same. They made me come, but that’s about it. I can’t even remember their names; I think one was called Craig, or maybe Gary. It was still quite exciting but a little bit flatter than the first time. So I tried to add a bit more excitement with the next. Yeah, he was the last but one. I only did it with five guys, including Alex.
I just showed the draft so far to my therapist. “Why did you say, ‘only’?” She asked me. “Are you implying that you are somehow less unfaithful than someone who was in double figures? Had you fallen short of a target figure? A hundred maybe? If you hadn’t been caught, were you intending to stop there, at ‘only’ five?”
I’ll begin again, this time not trivialising my betrayal with ‘only’… Yeah, he was the last but one. I’d already done it with five guys, including Alex, before Pete caught me. I hadn’t even considered stopping. I suppose, if Pete had challenged my lie about meeting Emma, that I might have reconsidered; but probably not. I think I would have just been more careful. I was hooked on the thrill of feeding Annie with sex, but I was having to raise the stakes to maintain the rush.
Pete never knew about the first three because I made all the arrangements when he wasn’t there or when I was at work. Number four was different. I used Pete as a prop. That’s right. If I could, I only contacted him when Pete was there. Are you judging me yet? Have I convinced you what a total cunt I am? Trust me, however harshly you think you’ve judged me, I know that I’m ten times worse! It’s true; I actually tried to make Annie’s game more exciting by making my fuck-buddy arrangements while Pete was there, whether in the car, watching TV, once even in bed!
I met Jake once, without Pete knowing or suspecting. He wasn’t great but he had a biggish dick, not that he was particularly good with it. It was wasted on him really. It was big enough though, that I was tempted to give him another go, so we set up another meeting.
It was Jake who had texted me when Pete was driving me home that Sunday. Apparently, his firm needed him to take over a contract in Scotland at short notice when the current project manager was suddenly taken ill. Pete noticed my reaction and I came up with the stupid story about Emma cancelling our night out. It never occurred to me that they were both on Facebook and that Pete knew she was in Portugal. That’s why cheats always get caught; it doesn’t matter how smart you think you are, eventually a mistake or pure coincidence will fuck you up.
While I remember, Sophia eventually fucked up too. Even though she and John had, by September, ‘resolved their issues’ (her words), she was still making fuck-dates on-line. One evening she was sat in the pub with friends when John came back from the gents and, intending to come up behind her to give her a surprise hug, he looked over her shoulder and caught her texting a guy saying how hard she was going to suck his dick.
By all accounts it didn’t go well. He grabbed her phone to make sure that he’d read the message correctly, he had, and then he read the others. I wasn’t there but, apparently, he threw the phone on the floor and stamped on it, breaking it. When she jumped up to try to placate him, he slapped her face and called her a cheating, fucking, cum dump, slut and left.
In hindsight, I think that proved that Pete loved me more than John loved Sophia. Pete made sure that I understood how devastated I’d made him feel and made sure that mum and dad were there to help me after I’d learned my lesson. If he’d just walked out, I’d have lied to them, and they deserved better than that. I can’t thank him enough for that now; not that I felt that way at the time. Sophia, she just shrugged it off. She learnt nothing. I still fucking hate her.
I was a bit tipsy that Sunday evening, and I didn’t really register that Pete was quieter than usual. Now, it’s obvious that he was wondering why I’d lied about a cancelled night out. He was up early the next morning too, but I was so fucking self-absorbed that I didn’t give that any thought either.
Monday evening was nice though. He’d had a shitty day at work, though at the time I didn’t realise, mostly due to his whore of a wife. So after tea we snuggled up on the sofa and watched a film together, then we went to bed and made love. He was so tender and loving… Oh, fuck! I miss him so much…
Sorry. I had to go for a walk. The neighbours don’t even comment now, when they see me walking to the park with tears streaming down my face.
On Tuesday the big unravelling began. I’ll explain later how I know a little of that side of the story. Anyway. I got a ping from the Infinidelity app to say a new member’s preferences were a top match with me. His profile picture showed a hot looking young guy, and his bio implied that he was a virgin looking for a married woman to show him the ropes. I wasn’t going to wait to get home to reply to that, so I messaged him almost straight away to tell him I was very, very, interested. I told him I wanted to see his bod and gave him access to my profile page.
Pete was very quiet all Tuesday evening, though I didn’t take a lot of notice. I just assumed that the jerk he’d sacked was causing problems. A proper wife might have asked: I, on the other hand, was waiting for some random guy to send me a skin pic. About eight o’clock, Alex sent me a message. It was so hot. This ripped nineteen year old virgin wanted to meet me on Thursday, and I was reading his message and imagining running my hands down those perfect abs, WHILE MY HUSBAND WAS SAT RIGHT THERE! I swear I had never been wetter without having a cock actually inside me.
That was then. Now, I look back at that moment as the ultimate act of betrayal, worse even than actually fucking Alex. I feel nauseous just reading that last passage. I sent Alex my enthusiastic response and described, in detail, what his introduction to sex would look like. I know now that Pete saw that message and I understand why he left me the way he did. Even now, my hands are shaking as I try to imagine how he must have felt as he read the text I’d sent while he sat in the same room.
What happened next? I looked at Pete, smiled and told him that Emma’s plans had changed and Thursday night was back on. I was so excited that it is only in hindsight that I realised Pete got a text shortly afterwards and went to bed early. Obviously, wife of the year didn’t even pretend to care why.
I barely saw Pete on Wednesday evening, that must have been when he changed all of our banking. I sat watching TV, probably deciding which outfit would be most appropriate for my first virgin fuck-buddy.
Then came Thursday. I was so fucking horny that I messaged Alex to see how early he could meet me, then I sent Pete a text to say that Emma and I had decided to go out for an early tea. Of course, he’s looking on her FB page at her sightseeing around Pena Palace several hundred miles away. God alone knows what he thought when he read my text and I can’t begin to imagine how much it must have pained him to add, “Have a good time” to his reply.
I’m not going to describe my tryst with Alex in detail. He was the nicest and the best lover of the five. He was bigger than the first four too. At the time, I thought that it was sweet of him to worry about my husband. Even now, I know that, however much he wanted to fuck me, he really wanted me to walk away. I didn’t though; I laughed and said, “What hubby don’t know won’t hurt him.” It was true. Only, hubby did know, and it did hurt him. A lot!
I left about ten that evening with some fatuous remark about going home like a good girl. I was surprised to find mum and dad waiting outside when I got to the flat. “Fuck! Is Pete okay?” Was all that I could think. If he’d been hurt while I was out whoring, I’d never forgive myself. Truth is, he had been hurt, but it was precisely because I was out whoring.
Anyway, dad met me and asked me where I’d been. I told him the story I’d prepared about the night out with Emma. I wondered why he repeated it down the phone. Then he said that Pete knew Emma was away, so where had I really been. I made up an excuse about an office party of about twelve people in the pub. Dad was confused but asked me if room 154 could hold a dozen people, and I knew. Pete knew, everything.
I felt as though I’d been punched in the gut; my head was spinning and the next thing I remember is that I was crouched over in the street, vomiting, while my parents tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.
Dad opened the flat door with his spare key: I was incapable. Mum, still confused, stood holding me while dad looked at his phone. “What the fuck am I looking at?” He said. I dreaded to think.
Mum kept asking, “Eddie, what’s happening?” But dad didn’t answer. I think he knew but couldn’t accept it and couldn’t bring himself to tell mum what he was thinking.
He made a call and put his phone to his ear, “Pete. What am I looking at?” He listened and stared at me, his confusion turning to disbelief and disappointment at his little girl’s betrayal of her husband.
Dad put his phone on speaker, as mum kept asking him, pleading with him, to tell her what was going on. We heard Pete’s voice. “”Janet, take Tina into the kitchen, Show her the photo. Ask her if she knows what it means.”
Mum led me through to the kitchen, though I could barely put one foot in front of the other. There was our wedding photograph, the one from our living room wall. It was laid on the dining table, the glass smashed. I told mum I knew I’d made him so angry that he’d broken it but I never meant to hurt him. He told mum to make me look again. Then I realised; however he’d broken the glass, the cracks all radiated from a single point: his chest. My husband had shown me, on our wedding photograph, how his heart was broken.
What did I have to offer? What was my excuse? All I could say was, “I didn’t mean to hurt him! Tell him I never meant to hurt him.”
But by now it was obvious Pete knew about Infinidelity, about Little Miss Annie. He even knew about ‘what hubby don’t know won’t hurt him’. I heard his voice as he told mum, “She never meant to hurt me? No, she just didn’t fucking care.”
It wasn’t true. I did care about him, or so I’d convinced myself. I just never believed that he’d ever find out. I was so stupid!
Pete told mum to take me to the bedroom, then we were nearly finished. Mum and dad both had to help me, my legs barely supported me. Then I saw our bed, the bed where we’d made love only a couple of nights before. It took me a moment before I realised, and then my world fell apart. Everything that meant anything to my husband and me was on there. Not ripped or damaged in any way. That would have been an act of anger. No. It was just that everything that was special to us as a couple was left, abandoned, the way I had abandoned him for a meaningless fuck with a stranger. I tried to speak, to explain, but I couldn’t. I was crying, howling, babbling, barely able to breathe, and what sounds I could make were incoherent.
We didn’t understand why everything was covered in shredded paper though, but that was the last of my worries until I heard dad ask Pete about it. “Tell her to look in the box.” Pete said.
It was every card we’d ever exchanged. I’d kept them in my memory box. Christmas, Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Anniversary cards; every card we’d ever given each other with, “I Love You,” written on it, he’d shredded because I obviously never did love him and he didn’t, couldn’t, love me any more. That’s when I broke. I heard dad talking to Pete for a few moments longer but none of the words made sense any more. I don’t remember anything after that.
I woke up about midnight. Mum must have cleared the bed to make space for me and they were packing up my clothes, talking softly together. I took a deep shuddering breath as I came to and they crossed quickly to hold me. “Hush baby,” mum said. “It’s over now. You’re coming home with us. We’ll talk tomorrow.” At least they were there for me. He’d loved me enough to give me that.
We did talk next day, when I was awake. But they gave me Friday to pull myself together. The conversations that began on Saturday though, were anything but comfortable. They made their feelings very clear. I didn’t like it, but they weren’t wrong. The list of things that I had fucked up was horrendously long, and they weren’t shy in pointing every single item out.
Effectively, I was single, homeless, an emotional wreck, an adulteress and a slut. My big sister rang to tell me she had just seen Pete’s FB update and she generously shared her opinions of me too. After she’d finished berating me, she told me that she had messaged Pete to ask him, politely, if he would consider taking down my slut profile. Yes, those were the words my big sister used to describe me. He’d always liked Sue, so he did it that day.
It was Saturday afternoon before dad showed me the divorce application. When I stopped bawling that I didn’t want a divorce, I wanted Pete, mum stepped up. After she’d finished expressing her anger at me using her late mum’s name for my whoring, she made it clear that I’d made my choices on my back and on my knees. Pete would never look at me again without wondering who I’d fuck next, so I should just get over myself. That was three *Fucks* and two sexual references in two minutes. I had really pissed her off.
My parents insisted that I go back to work on Monday; they had rung on my behalf on Friday to say that I was unwell. I drove past Pete’s offices, two miles out of my way, every day for three weeks to try to see him, to say how sorry I was, to ask his forgiveness, to beg him to take me back. I don’t know how dad found out, but he was incandescent with anger. “Leave the poor bastard alone!” He raged at me. “Haven’t you fucking done enough to him already? If he can ever face seeing you again, which I doubt, it has to be on his terms. You lost that right the moment you spread your legs for some random cock!”
Dad had never, ever spoken to me, well anyone, like that before. The reality, the finality, of the consequences of my decisions became clear to me. My marriage was over: how could it not be? Three weeks later I managed to meet a therapist for counselling.
It was December and I was Christmas shopping for presents for mum, dad and Sue when I saw a young man looking at me. He was holding hands with an attractive young woman, but they were muffled up with scarves and I didn’t recognise either of them. He spoke to the girl and she nodded and walked to one of the nearby pop-up kiosks. He walked across to me and, realising why I didn’t recognise him, he unwrapped his scarf.
“Alex!” I gasped.
“No. It’s Lee, actually,” he smiled, a little sadly. “But you’re not Annie either, are you?”
“When did you know?” I asked quietly.
“When Pete swiped up from your first message to Alex and onto your profile.” He grimaced. “He’d been fair with me at work and, in return, I agreed to put myself on that obscenity of a website. I watched his world fall apart when he saw who you really were.” He shook his head.
“Does he still talk about me?” I asked, hopefully.
“No, or at least not to me, but we’re not really that close. He’s still my boss, and he doesn’t seem to hate me for what you and I did, but we’re not friends.”
Just then the young woman joined us with three mugs of hot chocolate. She held one out to me.
“This is Vicky, my girlfriend,” Lee introduced us. “Tina, Vic knows who you are so you can speak freely.”
I was shocked. “You told her? Everything?”
He put his arms around her shoulder. “You taught me a lot. Some of it good, some a lesson in what not to do. Vicky has benefitted from the good bits.” The girl giggled and flushed in embarrassment and nudged him. She was gorgeous; he was a stud. I hoped they made it. At least they understood where deceit took you. I had that to console me.
We found a bench nearby and sat for ten minutes and chatted. Lee had seen a pretty blonde waiting for Pete a couple of times as they left work. He had no idea if they were serious. I hoped she was better, more loyal than me.
Vicky sat in stunned silence as I explained how my spiral of deceit began. “But you had so many chances to stop,” she whispered. “Why did you risk everything for meaningless sex?”
I thought for a while, “The trite answer is that I wanted to see what it felt like and I didn’t believe I’d get caught.” I paused to watch their reactions. “I would sacrifice a limb to undo the stupid things I did. I’ve lost everything that was important to me for a handful of meaningless fucks.”
We finished our drinks and said goodbye. They left and I went back to my shopping.
So for those of you who need closure, here’s the final summary:
Pete is seeing someone. I hope she’s nice.
Lee is a confident young man with a lovely girlfriend.
Vicky has a sweet, experienced lover.
My big sister thinks I’m a stupid little slut.
My dad is trying to come to terms with his little girl acting like a whore.
My mum’s still hurt at how I disrespected her mother’s memory.
And me? I’m trying to rebuild my relationship with my family. I’ve learnt that the cheat’s response to the question, “Why did you do it?” Is usually “Because I could.” But you can’t, not indefinitely. Karma’s a bitch. Just like me.
So I’m officially divorced and trying to get on with my new life. There’s a new guy at work. One of the girls says she thinks he’s going to ask me out. If it’s because he thinks I’m easy, I won’t go. If it’s just that he wants to get to know me, you know, better, then I’ll go. And, if he asks me out on a second date, I’ll tell him the truth; I was selfish and stupid and I want to be better than I was, because I don’t want to be, can’t be, responsible for causing that much hurt to so many people ever again. I won’t lead him on without telling him who, what, I was. I just hope that one day I can convince someone that I know better now.
What about Annie? All of our household waste collected by the council goes to an energy from waste plant on an industrial site out of town. I put everything that I wore when I was unfaithful, shoes, clothes, underwear, everything, in the bin. I threw my phone, the one I used to betray my husband, on top. Even the sim card went. I have a new number now.
I’d got approval from work to go in late on Wednesday, so I waited and then watched as the collection vehicle made its way down our street that morning. I watched as it emptied our bin, with Annie in it, into the gaping maw at the rear. Fuck you, Annie! Good riddance,” I thought. Then I stood as it continued out of sight on its journey that would end at the incinerator. I fucking burned the bitch.
———————————-
Postscript
I was happy with the way that I ended the first instalment of Pete and Tina’s story. I still stand by that decision, though a lot, not all, of the comments suggested that it was too abrupt. Maybe that’s the difference between UK and some US readers: There seems to be an expectation of a nice neat epilogue in the US, where all the loose ends are tied up. So this was my compromise. There really isn’t another story left to tell, so we’ll have to hope that they all heal in time and learn from Tina’s stupidity. Even, or especially, Tina.