“That fucking bastard!” I screamed at my computer as the Find My iPhone app confirmed my darkest suspicions. “That lying sonofabitch!”
“I’ll be working all night on that merger project and just be able to catch a couple of hours sleep at the office before my 9 a.m. meeting,” my husband had said so convincingly a few minutes ago. He didn’t know I had activated the GPS tracker on his iPhone. This was the third time this month he’d pulled this shit, but this time I had the new Find My iPhone app to see where he really was. How stupid did he think I was?
The real question was what was I going to do about it? It’s one thing to know your husband is a cheating, lying bastard, it’s another thing to do something about it. My anger quickly gave way to defeatism. What does she have that I don’t have?
I stood up and looked at myself in the full-length mirror covering our closet door. Turning left and right as I slowly shed my clothes, I tried to be objective about my 34 year-old body. My breasts still looked good, pretty pert with no sag. My stomach was toned; I worked out at least four days a week and swam regularly. I ran my hands down my flat stomach and along my smooth hips.
Adjusting the closet door so the mirror faced the floor to ceiling window that covered most of one wall of our bedroom, I checked out my backside. With the drapes opened, the window glass reflected almost like another mirror. Nice firm ass, no sign of sag there either. I slapped my bare ass cheek for emphasis. So what the fuck was it?
My husband’s co-worker was very pretty and she was ten years younger than I am but I always thought I had kept him satisfied. I gave him regular blowjobs and I was pretty good at it if I do say so myself. Up until recently, our sex had always been adventurous, almost aerobic. So why was he fucking that slut?
I let out a long sigh. This was getting me nowhere. Maybe a swim would clear my brain. I slipped on my lavender, silk robe and walked downstairs. Exiting through the sliding glass door off the family room, I was surprised by how hard the door slammed behind me. Maybe I was tenser than I thought.
Standing next to the pool in the cool night air, I dropped my robe and looked around. Our neighbor’s house wasn’t far away but I thought it unlikely he would be looking out at this time of night. I dove in, letting the water rush around me and caress my bare skin. I tried to forget about what my husband and his young slut were doing as I swam a few fast laps. When I felt the tension starting to leave my shoulders, I flipped onto my back and floated leisurely around letting my body completely relax. Fuck him!
Swimming usually helped but I couldn’t quite get the image of those two cheaters out of my mind or the helplessness I felt trying to determine what to do about it. If I confronted him was I willing to throw away twelve years of marriage? If I didn’t confront him was I willing to live with myself as the pathetic little wife who just accepted her husband’s infidelity? I finally gave up and climbed out of the pool. Grabbing my robe I tried to push the door open but it wouldn’t budge.
“What the fuck!” I cried, pulling on the handle. Shit. It must have locked when I slammed it shut. I almost laughed at the absurdity of standing naked in my back yard while my husband was across town fucking his whore. “Here I am world,” I wanted to shout. “Fuck me over some more”.
Now what? I knew the rest of the doors were locked. We had talked about a keyless entry for our garage but had never gotten around to it. There was a light on next door but I was naked as a jaybird. Well, almost. I slipped the silk robe on, pulling it tightly around me. It didn’t have a tie so I held it closed as I traversed the short sidewalk that connected our side yards. Feeling totally foolish and embarrassed, I shivered as I rang Ron’s back doorbell.
We don’t know our neighbor very well except to say hello on the driveway now and then. If it was a shock for him to find a wet, half naked woman on his doorstep, he didn’t show it.
“Hello, Mrs. Ascott,” Ron said politely as if I stopped by like this regularly.
“Hi Ron, call me Beth,” I said, wondering what he was thinking.
“Okay, Beth,” he smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“I locked myself out of my house,” I said as he held the door open for me and I saw him starring at my breasts. I didn’t have to look down to know what the night air had done to my nipples and I knew my wet skin would make the silk almost transparent.
I blushed even more when I realized that Ron was only wearing a pair of sweat pants that hung enticingly low on his hips. His black chest rippled with muscles that deepened the color of my already flush face.
“How… um… I mean…” Ron was stammering as I dripped water on his kitchen floor and pulled the robe tightly around me. He couldn’t keep his eyes off my breasts and I have to admit I found it reassuring after my husband’s self-esteem crushing lies earlier in the evening.
“I was swimming and somehow the sliding glass door got locked. I’m sorry to bother you but I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I could call a locksmith or something,” I blurted out all in one breath.
“Of course, come in,” he said, ushering me into the living room. “I’ll get you a towel,” he added. I watched him walk out of the room, almost voyeuristically observing his well-defined back muscles as he moved.
I have never fantasized about interracial sex but Ron’s naked torso was having an effect on me. Maybe it was because I was sitting there almost naked or because I was still reeling from my husband’s infidelity but I felt the familiar twinges of arousal between my naked thighs. Stop it! I admonished myself until I watched him walk back into the kitchen with a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants. At least I still had that effect on someone even if it wasn’t my husband.
Ron handed me the towel but I was at odds about how to dry off while keeping my robe pulled around me. He seemed to sense my discomfort and suggested I go upstairs to dry off. He didn’t try to hide his scrutiny of my near naked rear-end as I ascended the stairs.
“There are some t-shirts in the second drawer down,” he called after me. “Help yourself. I’ll go see about your door. Sliding glass doors don’t always latch all the way,” he added.
I went into his very masculine bedroom, all dark colors with a huge dark blue or black comforter on his king-sized bed. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror over Ron’s dresser I was shocked to see that my robe was almost completely transparent. No wonder Ron couldn’t keep his eyes off my breasts. My nipples and areolas were as much on display as if I had been naked. The bottom half of my robe wasn’t as wet and the material wasn’t adhering to my skin so you could barely see a hint of my light colored pubic hair through the silk robe. At least that was something.
As I dropped the robe and started toweling off, my pussy twitched again at the idea of me standing naked in my neighbor’s bedroom. In a very weird way it felt like an erotic adventure. I found his t-shirt drawer and slipped on an extra-long, V-neck shirt. Ron is well over six feet tall so the shirt hung almost mid-thigh length on me and rested nicely against my breasts. It displayed a little more cleavage than I usually like but I was beyond being modest at this point. He had already gotten an eyeful.