My Long Awaited Revenge On Rochelle

I'm Rochelle's husband Jerry and many people have advised me to divorce her after her admitting to having two affairs. Although this happened over 25 yrs ago, revenge is a dish best served cold.

April602 wrote an article emphasizing that women lie about their sexual past. She said whatever number they give you can double it or triple it. Rochelle hasn't given me a number but I'm going with 16 prior to "I do," and at least 2 after "I do." So did she actually have 4-6 affairs?

My writing erotic fiction has opened up a lot of doors and communication between my wife and me. She still won't give me her number or too much detail other than she only screwed boyfriends and was a virgin until college. Not much to go on.

But through our honest conversations, and my persistent questioning, she made two confessions which I titled "Wife's business trip event" and "Wife's business trip event Part II." The second affair was my fault? Almost comical.

So, its 2025 and an opportunity for revenge has emerged. I am 61 now, a little older and a lot wiser. In high school, we had a course titled "Forgiving and accepting," and I was out that week with the Mumps.

So, for now, we're shacked up in an apartment building in Pelham, NY while our dream home goes up in White Plains. Temporary setup, but it works. Nine floors, eight units per. The place is a mixed bag--retirees, small families, DINKs, singles. A little bit of everything.

The morning that I met this girl, I was just hauling the recycling down to the basement. Trash is easier--just a quick toss down the chute, barely 15 feet from our door. Just an ordinary day for me-living the dream.

I stepped into the elevator, and there she was--a woman who looked like she was in her early 30s, maybe around my daughter's age. Not that I'm great at guessing ages, especially with women. Jet black hair obviously dyed. Small frame, maybe 5'4", 110 pounds, give or take. She had a coat on, so no real look at the goodies, but the outline was promising.

I started small talk and she asked me about my iconic rock jacket that I was sporting. Her name was Deb and she asked me if I ever go to the Capital Theater in New York to see Grateful Dead bands. I said that I did. She pulled out a pen and wrote her phone number down on my hand.

"In case you ever want to go to a show, give me a call. I am in 8C."

I didn't think much of it, but I put the phone number into iContacts and then tried to rub off the ink with my saliva. I got most of it off. I would have had a hard time explaining to my wife why I had a phone number written on my hand, in someone else's handwriting.

The Grateful Jed, a Grateful Dead style band, was going to be playing at the Capital Theater's Garcia's, and my wife didn't want to go. It was going to be a 40-45 minute drive. So, what a great excuse to use the phone number that I was given. I called Deb, left her a message and asked her if she wanted to go to the show. She texted me back a few minutes later and said she would like to join me. I told her that I would stop by her unit Friday, around 7:15, to pick her up.

7:25 PM Friday

I knocked on her door and she answered already wearing her coat, ready to go.

"How are you Deb?"

She responded, "It's been a long day already. I almost wasn't goanna go tonight, but I need the escape. This morning, I had to take my cat to the vet so I didn't get to go shopping or pick up my clothes from the dry cleaners. They just make you fucking wait at the vets. It costed $700. Seven hundred fucking dollars for an 8-year-old cat."

"Where do you work"? I inquired.

"Pelham Street Capital," she responded. "It's a private equity company-we buy bad loans cheap."

When we were leaving the building, the super gave me a look like, "Are you tapping that"?

I thought, "No, not yet."

It wasn't an official date, but I still opened the car door like a gentleman as she slid into my Fiat 124 Spider Abarth. As soon as she got in, she asked about the car. I told her it was Italian, and Fiat dates back to 1899 in Turin. She either pegged me as a car guy or a nerd. Maybe both.

" I'm part Italian, "she boasted.

"Yah, which part"?

We both laughed. It was going to be a fun evening.

I still haven't seen her without her coat on. She was still wearing it in the car. Should I crank the heat? No need-I would see her soon enough.

It was a 40-minute drive to the bar. We made small talk about where she was from. She talked a lot about her job which was very interesting. I commented how much I liked investing, and the capital markets. I was trying to impress her.

When we arrived, I parked at the lot across the street from the bar Garcia's. Parking in NY often requires that you pay for it with your phone. And then the app charges you like $.75 surcharge. It's a rip off, but at least if you're in the bar, and running late, you can add money to the meter right from your phone. They charge another $.75 of course; it's like a NJ toll.

Since it wasn't a date, I let her pay for her own admission, which was 25 bucks. She had a good job right? I'd rather invest the money into her first drink, and her second.

If it was a date, I would order her a "slow and comfortable screw." But since it wasn't, I ordered her a rum concoction that was a house specialty. I made it a double for her. On the other hand, I ordered a club soda with a lemon.

She thanked me for the drink. I told her I'd check our coats. She slipped hers off and handed it to me without a word. When I returned, I finally got a good look at her. Pushing 40, but damn, she wore it well. Perky up top, just enough cleavage to keep things interesting. Flat stomach--no doubt she hit the gym a few times a week. Loose-fitting jeans, casual but not careless. Yeah, she was cute. Real cute.

She finished her double before the band started playing. I made another $20 investment and got her another double. I was into her for like $40 at this point.

"You don't have to buy me my drinks" she said.

I paused and contemplated my response. I could just say, "I know." or I could be a lot more direct and say, "I figured that I'd have a better chance of getting in your pants if you've had a few drinks in you.."

So, I responded, "I know." I did not want to create an uncomfortable situation in case it was just two friends enjoying a show.

She smiled. The band was just getting on stage and tuning up. Fans were starting to move forward towards the stage. The place was about half full, maybe 100 people or so. Usually there are a couple of hundred people by 9 PM. After all, it was Friday night.

The band wasted no time at all. They jumped right in with, "Sugar Magnolia."

"That's my favorite song. Don't I remind you of a Sugar Magnolia"? she asked.

OK, maybe it's the club soda talking, "But doesn't that sound a lot like flirting"?

My instinct was to put my arm around her. But I thought about it for a second and decided that it would be really weird. This is not high school or college, and we are like 20 years apart in age. Oh yes, and one of us is married.

But instead, we danced together, which was fun. And the next song was "Tennessee Jed," which is more of a square-dancing song. We skipped that one. But then they did a Jerry ballad, "Stella Blues." It is slow song and lends itself to slow dancing. What the hell!

I lied, "This is my favorite Jerry Ballad...Dance with me?"

She did. She felt great in my arms. One of her hands rested on my shoulder. She actually knew how to slow dance. My hand was around her waist and pulled her body close to mine.

The song lasted about seven minutes; seven minutes of heaven.

"Do you want another drink?"

She smiled. I took that as a yes and got us each a drink.

Taking the drink in her hand she grinned and said, "You're driving, right?"

"Yes, and you're drinking. You're in good hands like Allstate."

Still smiling, she lightly rested her hand on mine and then removed it. Her touch was magical. My mind was racing. What is my next move?

It was almost 1 AM and there were only 50 people left in the club. They had stopped serving drinks and she was actually holding on to my arm with two hands. The band was closing the show with "Broken down palace."

"Ready?" I inquired.

I got us our coats. We left the bar and crossed the street. She was still grabbing on to my arm with two hands. The street was quiet.

I opened the car door, and she slid in without hesitation. What I would decide to do next was the most important move of the night. I started the engine, keeping an eye on her. The booze was hitting--no doubt about it.

"I like to close out the night with a walk by the beach in Rye. It is on the way home-are you game?"

Pause. She could just say it is getting late or she was tired. Worse, she could confront me on my intentions, which would suck.

"Sure. That would be nice."

I revved the engine, and just like that, we were off. My heart picked up the pace, my breath became heavy. Next play?

I parked and there were only a couple of cars, one with steamed windows and one was empty. The lights were off in the lot because no one was supposed to be there after dark.

She turned to me and I looked at her. Our eyes met. She leaned forward and kissed me. Before I fucked it up by saying something stupid, I embraced her while we kissed; a long, sensuous kiss that lasted almost a minute.

"Full disclosure. I am married."

I felt better. I put it out there. Next move was hers.

"I am ok with that. I have dated a few married men your age. Men are like wine; they get better with age."

I planted another kiss. This was going to be a great night.

She asked me, "When was the last time that you kissed a woman that wasn't your wife?"

"30 years ago." We both laughed.

I looked in my trunk and found a couple of Yoga mats. I brought them to lay down on.

I found a nice spot about 100 ft. from the path. It was dark and we laid them on the ground next to each other. She removed her coat and took off her shirt confirming that she was ready to take this date to the next level. Yes, date.

She was wearing a beautiful black front-clasp bra--quick access, minimal fuss. One flick, and it's open. Practical, but with a little built-in anticipation. Was she going to unclip it or is she waiting for me to make the next move?

First I planted another kiss on her as a distraction while I unclipped her bra. My one-hand unclipping skills were rusty and she helped undo it. Her boobs popped out like they were just freed from captivity. My immediate impulse was to suck on one. I acted impulsively.

"Ohhhhh...that feels nice. Don't stop."

My free hand found her other boob. Her nipples were engaged.

I wanted to check-in so I said, "You're 18, right?"

She laughed and said that she was actually 42.

"I have been a bad girl, Daddy."

We both laughed. Was she inviting me to pull down her pants and spank her? Did she have a Daddy fetish. WTF, I decided to play along and see where it went.

"Deb you are a bad girl. I told you to be home by 1 AM and it is a quarter after two. If it weren't so dark, I would make you fetch me a switch. Since I don't have a switch, I will use my belt," as I removed mine from my waist.

I pulled her over my lap and admired her hot ass hidden by her jeans; well not really hidden. I was already hard as hell. I folded my belt and swatted her butt and she smiled. The next swat was even harder. Ok back to role play.

"Oh, you think this is funny...disrespecting me are you?"

She laughed.

I undid her jeans and pulled them down her ankles. She was wearing very small black panties that matched the bra. I spanked her again with the belt and this time she responded, "Ah."

I hit her a few more times and asked her, "Did you learn your lesson Deb?"

She said she didn't so I spanked her several more times. The flesh, that was not covered by her panties, was getting very red.

"If you are truly sorry you will make it up to Daddy somehow."

She rolled off my lap with a mischievous smile and undid my pants button.

"Suck my cock baby girl."

As she pulled down my zipper, she smiled and pulled my cock out of my pants. It was rock hard even without Viagra.

"Oh, you're happy to see me," in a flirtatious voice.

Unlike my wife who says, "Ew!" as she wipes my precum on my stomach, baby girl bends her head down, licks it and says, "Yum!"

Before I even had a chance to just soak in the moment, she was sucking my cock. It was the best blowjob that I ever had. Even better than the ones Cherise used to give me. Let's face it, most wives are not pros at blowjobs, except maybe April602.

I have only cum once from a blowjob. It was in 1985 and I was with a friend in the lower Westside of NYC. It was late December, and we picked up this crack-whore who proceeded to give us each the blow jobs of our lives while the other one stood outside of the car in the freezing cold. I came in the hooker's mouth.

The situation with Deb was different. I wanted to cum in her. I wanted to feel my cock deep in her pussy.

"I am close to cumming Deb. Are you on the pill?"

"Yes. I have been on the fucking pill for 20 years."

I pulled my cock out of her mouth. My balls were tight and I wanted to cum so badly. I decided to give it a break and eat her out. I wanted her to cum at least once before I did.

I slipped my hand inside her panties. She was very horny. The outside of her pussy was very wet and when my finger touched her clit she jumped a little and smiled.

Fuck it. I pulled her panties right down and started finger fucking her until my hand was almost as wet as her pussy. Then I stuck my face in her 42-year-old snatch. It tasted great-like a fine wine or delicate dessert. I figuratively and literally lapped it up causing her to shake and ultimately orgasm.

"That was the best orgasm I had in months," Deb proclaimed.

I spread her legs and laid on top of her kissing her passionately as my cock entered her pussy and pumped her hard and fast.

"Oh, my fucking god...you bastard. You are going to make me cum again."

She was too much. Bastard? I kept pumping and felt her pussy muscles grab my dick like a vice grip. She really had strong muscles as I had no choice but to drop a big load of cum in her.

We were both out of breath, especially me.

"Your pussy is amazing. You must it work out," I said with a smile.

She blushed without another word spoken. We got dressed and even put our coats on-it was cold out. But I can only cum if it is cold and it made her nipples hard, so it was a win-win.

We just started making out and embracing each other like high school sweethearts. Her kissing skills were top notch and feeling her tits never got old. It was now after 3 AM and we packed up and returned to the car where we continued kissing.

We rolled into the apartment parking lot at 4 AM and said good night as I exited the elevator on my floor. My wife and daughter were sound asleep. My wife was snoring. She wasn't about to wake up. I will save the flat tire excuse for another time.

The story started off with "revenge is a dish best served cold." This was retribution for her two affairs, or at least the two she copped to. She needed to know about this affair. She needed to feel the sting of jealousy and the gut punch of betrayal.

How could he do this to me? He needed to let this go. I was a different person back then. I have been a faithful wife for 25 years.

These are the thoughts that probably clouded her mind when she read this story that I accidentally left on her night table. The story of revenge and a night of lust, this time not involving Gary or that kid she fucked or even her...this one was all me; oh yes, and Deb.

I heard from the kitchen her crying as she read this story. The pain she felt knowing that I was fucking a 42-year-old hottie at the beach last night after the show.

To this day, we never spoke about my affair. She never asked me any questions and my only response would have been "revenge is a dish best served cold."

Ok since people are going to ask me if I fucked Deb again the answer is... "My Long-Awaited Revenge on Rochelle Part II."