I sat at my office desk staring at the manila folder in my hands. I knew what the contents were. I had just received an oral report from William, the private detective I'd hired. He'd just confirmed my worst suspicions about my wife's sluttish behavior. I thanked him and wrote out a check for his expensive services and walked him to the door.
I couldn't bring myself to look at the pictures just yet. I sat back, reflecting on when it all began.
Becky, my wife, is a nurse in a western suburban hospital. My name is Jim and I work as a graphics designer for an advertising agency in Chicago. We are a young 30's couple who were finally able to move from a starter house into the house of our dreams. It was sold to us at a greatly reduced price because the owners were getting a divorce and needed to sell it quickly. The terms of the contract, however, allowed them three months to move their things out.
Meanwhile we'd easily sold our starter home to a young couple eager to begin their lives. Therefore, we needed a place to live in the interim, but every apartment we looked at required signing a one-year's lease.
Our real estate lady said she knew of a place we might try. She said it wasn't the newest place, and it bordered the bad section of town, but the rental could be on a month-to-month basis. We talked it over and decided we could live anywhere for three months.
When we entered the rental office, a bell tinkled announcing our arrival. No one was at the secretary's desk when we entered. "Odd," I thought.
"Perhaps they are at lunch," my wife said.
"Becky, it's two o'clock. I don't think they'd be at lunch this late," I said.
Just then, a cute blond came into the room from an adjoining office. She appeared to be about 20 years old with the captivating figure of a young woman who enjoys working out. She was adjusting her skirt as she shut the door and reached up to rearrange her hairdo. Apparently, she hadn't noticed that her blouse needed to be tucked in at the back, and it was wrinkled in front. She was braless and it was evident that someone had been caressing her petite breasts.
I mentally chuckled. It was apparent why she had been out of the office. Just the thought of someone exploring her gorgeous young body and, perhaps, fucking her gave me the beginnings of an erection.
She pulled herself together and stuck her hand out.
"Hi, I'm Sandy. How may I help you?"
"We were wondering if you have an apartment we could rent for three months," I said.
She told us they had a two bedroom available, but that it wouldn't be ready for two days while they cleaned and painted. I assured her that it would fit our plans so we filled out the contract papers. When we finished with them, she smiled and mentioned that the owner likes to meet all new clients. She walked us to the office door from where she'd entered and knocked. A deep voice said, "Come in."
As we entered, the man behind the desk stood up. Sandy explained the situation and introduced us. His handshake was firm and his gaze penetrating. I was somewhat shocked. I recognized the owner. His name was Maurice Jones. He was approximately our age, tall, handsome and athletic looking. Maurice was one of the most successful black entrepreneurs in our city, and had recently been featured in the Chicago Tribune as one of the city's most eligible bachelors. He was enormously wealthy after having heavily invested in real estate on the near south side which had later become fashionable for upwardly mobile whites.
After a bit of small talk, he asked if we'd like to see our apartment.
"That won't be necessary," I said.
But Becky spoke up, "Yes, I'd love to see the apartment. Could we please see it?"
He briefly stared into her eyes; it seemed like an electrical spark arced between them.
"Not only can you see the apartment, Mrs. Wolf, I'll show it to you myself. I need to stop by my apartment, anyway, to pick up something."
I was surprised. "Do you live in the building, too?" I asked.
"For the time being," he said. "My house is being remodeled and I'm allergic to all the dust and I hate all the noise."
He insisted that we allow him to drive us. He had a beautifully restored green Jaguar XK-J with expensive leather seats and wood dash paneling. After evaluating seating arrangements, I told Becky to sit in front. From the back seat, I took appraisal of my wife seeing her with fresh eyes.
She complemented the car so well. She had long, curly red hair, natural eye brows, long lashes and beautiful facial features. A tall woman, she was wearing black high heels which enhanced her long legs. She wore a black mini-skirt and a tight-fitting white blouse which highlighted her narrow waist and revealed her full breasts. Childless, her figure was still voluptuous. Several times, I noticed Maurice looking at my wife's crossed limbs.
I felt removed, like I was viewing the scene through the lens of a camera. They truly made an attractive couple. Their eyes danced; their conversation sparkled; and their gestures were animated. Becky obviously was charmed. Her laughter punctuated his comments.
After viewing the apartment and visiting for awhile, Maurice picked up a briefcase from his apartment and brought us back to our car. We shook hands and thanked him for the personal service.
