The first sign that the wheels were about to come off my marriage happened a month later, and it was such an insignificant thing that I hardly paid it any mind at the time. It was a Tuesday, and I was out running a quick errand for Alexandra when the chime announcing I had received a new text sounded on my phone. Thinking it might have been Alexandra, I hurriedly pulled into a parking lot to check it. I was surprised to see that it was from my husband. I seldom received texts from him during the workday, and when I did, they were never of a personal nature -- or, they had never been before.
Steve:
I can't wait to see you tonight, babe. I've got something special for you.
Steve was not prone to referring to me by affectionate nicknames. I couldn't say that he'd never done it, but I could likely count those events on one hand without having to reuse any fingers. Still, we had been getting along of late and had even resumed our once-a-week lovemaking sessions following that one-week hiatus. I didn't think it impossible for him to have had a moment of weakness when it came to VDAs -- Verbal Displays of Affection.
It was the second thing he sent that morning that should have set off the Klaxons. Looking back on it, I should have taken one look at the next text Steve sent and known that it wasn't intended for me. I blame the fact that I didn't put two and two together on Alexandra, who had my brain so flooded with serotonin and dopamine from our latest session of lovemaking that it was a small wonder that I could drive, much less read the writing on the wall.
I was in the midst of taking a sip of coffee when the image popped up, nearly causing me to spit the drink out. I hadn't been expecting anything in particular, but certainly not a picture of my husband's penis. There it was, though, in all its glory: five inches of absolutely nothing. I suddenly wondered if it would go limp if I stared at it for longer than three minutes.
What had possessed him to mail me a dick pic, that day of all days? He'd been his typical non-verbal self that morning at breakfast. There'd been no indications of him being any more loving or amorous; to the contrary, he hadn't even waited for me to kiss his cheek goodbye, as was our routine. I'd still been eating my breakfast when he'd grabbed his coffee and hurried out the door because of an early meeting. It seemed highly unlikely that an overwhelming desire to have sex with me had struck him out of the blue in the hour or so since I'd last seen him, and yet still I foolishly failed to consider any alternative explanations.
Pulling out on the road, I continued with my assigned task, knowing that I needed to return before it was time for Alexandra's session to end. I had just enough time to make it to the post office and get back if nothing else impeded my day.
And as I went about my task with an ardent determination, all thoughts of Steve and his dick pic slipped from my mind.
<<<<<>>>>>
That forgotten text was jarred loose from my memory a week later. Our neighbor Jenny came over one Sunday afternoon while Steve was out playing golf with her husband, Marcus. I hadn't really spoken to her since the last dinner party beyond exchanging waves and quick hellos as I'd walked to and from work. Her house was the one that lay between my house and the one Alexandra lived in and worked out of.
Our husbands had become close friends after discovering common business interests, while Jenny and I had merely remained casual acquaintances. The two men had been playing golf together every Sunday morning for a couple of months. I was always grateful for that time alone; the fact I never felt abandoned during those times said a lot about my marriage. It was what it was. True companionship, never mind sex, had never been a major facet of our symbiotic relationship.
I could tell that something was off the moment I opened the door. Jenny offered me a smile in greeting, but it failed to reach her eyes; they were bloodshot as if she'd been recently crying. I at once invited her in and offered her a cup of coffee or tea, which she politely declined. Of the neighborhood women, I'd always been most fond of Jenny. She was genuine and lacked the pomposity and cliquishness of the other women. I'd always attributed that to the fact that she was a mother, and therefore more grounded and centered in reality while being less inclined to join in with the other women in their race to outdo one another as the perfect wife.
"Are you sure I can't get you something?" I asked, trying to be a good host.
"No, I'm fine. I don't want to take up too much of your day."
"It's okay," I said with a wave of my hand. "With the boys off hitting their little white balls around I have nothing but time."
Jenny said nothing, and I could swear that she was doing her best not to cry - and fighting a losing battle. I waited silently as I watched her wring her hands in her lap, her fingers digging into the flesh of her palms to the point I was surprised they didn't draw blood. I felt uneasy and more than a little confused as to what could have her so tied in knots, and what, if anything, it had to do with me. She was like a coiled torsion spring wound to the point of breaking, leaving me afraid to make a sound for fear that it might set her off.
"I'm sorry," Jenny said at last, "but this is really difficult."
"You're fine," I replied while trying to sound reassuring. "Just take your time and start when you're ready."
"Marcus is cheating on me," she said with almost a groan as if the emotional toll of uttering those words were almost more than she could bear. My heart instantly went out to her; the pain she was in was as plain as the nose on her face. Everything made sense; her bloodshot eyes and laconic effect were just symptoms of the sickness that her husband had brought into their marriage. Jenny was usually a happy person and prone to being somewhat verbose. I was witnessing a sparse, anguished requiem for her marriage.
"Are you sure?" I asked while reaching for the box of tissues, passing them to her as tears stained her pretty face. "You two always seemed so happy together."
"Oh, Marcus is good and putting up a front in public," Jenny replied as she wiped at her tears. "and I suppose that I've gotten pretty good at it too. But things have been strained between us since our second child was born. It's like he doesn't even see me as a woman anymore. I'm merely his maid, cook, and babysitter."
"I know that must be horrible for you. I can't imagine what you're going through."
"Hang on to that thought," Jenny said with a bitter laugh even as more tears flooded her eyes, "because this next part isn't going to be easy for you."
"What do you mean?" I asked, utterly confused. Upon hearing her terrible news, I'd entirely dismissed the notion that Jenny had come to visit me, specifically, rather than the nearest shoulder to cry on.
"
I have something you need to watch," she said, pulling out her phone. "I found it on Marcus's phone. I'd suspected him of cheating for a while, but I had no proof until I found this."
She mashed the Play button, and I focused my attention on the screen. The scene opened in what appeared to be a moderately nice hotel room, the skyline outside the windows indicating it was somewhere in the city. The camera came into focus on a somewhat scrawny male posterior as it pumped away between the legs of a woman whose identity it was impossible to say. While I couldn't yet identify her, I had no problem putting a name to the man in the video.
I started to laugh.
Jenny looked at me as if she thought I might have lost my mind -- that the shock of seeing my husband cheating on me with another woman was more than I could handle. Seeing the look on her face, I waved her off as I tried to gain control of my bout of frivolity. It was much easier said than done, and Jenny's worry veered towards confusion -- perhaps even annoyance. Just as I gained some semblance of control, the camera panned down to show a blonde ponytail bobbing back and forth as a pair of lips swallowed a much larger cock than my husband's. It wasn't until the camera operator spoke that I knew for certain who that cock belonged to.
