Behind the Closet Door

I got really drunk. I hid my phone from myself so I wouldn't do anything too stupid with it and cause any further damage, yeah, I was smart like that. Even still, I manage to do stupid shit when I get really fucked up. I awoke at four am - having stopped forming memories by about seven pm – I was on the floor of my wife's walk-in closet. The lingerie sets and dildos were strewn across the floor and one of her new secret g-strings was – rather comically – hanging around my neck.

I stood up and lazily put everything back together; she would know I was in here, and I wouldn't give a shit. Who fucking cares at this point. I saw the bottle of tequila on the floor next to my nightstand; what was once nearly full was now completely empty, and I was completely hung-over. To say I felt like shit would be the understatement of the year.

I showered, took an Alka-Seltzer and made some coffee. Yesterday sucked, and today was going to suck even more. Luckily, Monday was a holiday so Veronica would be at the in-law's house until that afternoon. At least Victoria and I would be able to deal with this shit today without worry. I saw the old iPhone on the floor, and above it was a dent in the wall. This is why I hide my phone and keys from myself when I'm drunk.

I saw that it said "try again in one minute(s)" across the red locked screen. Who knows how many attempts drunk me made at it.

"Screw it." I said to nobody. I looked down at the number key and just put in 1234. It worked. IT FUCKING WORKED. I stared at the array of squares on the main screen in complete and utter shock. There was a significant part of me that was angry at how stupidly easy and simple that was. I just sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. I knew somewhere on that phone, in all those apps there was the answer to every question I never wanted to ask, and yet had to know.

After ten minutes I pulled up the phone again, part of me hoped 1234 being the code was some hangover-induced fever dream, to spare me the idiocy of the situation. It wasn't. I stared at the apps, I knew where to start and went straight for WhatsApp. There was one chat thread and it wasn't with a name, but with some letters. "JJ." last messaged six days ago. "All for you..." was what the preview said. I opened the thread at this point shaking so much the letters were blurring. I put the phone down and tried to just breath for a second.

After I had stopped shaking, I picked up the phone and was looking at a giant erect dick in the top of the chat field. Awesome. Under it my wife said "fuck that looks so fucking good, I want to taste it." followed by his response and the last message "all for you, if you want it, slut."

I scrolled up to see the context. And was met with another picture of the dude's dick from a side angle. "alright dude." I said at the screen, increasingly over seeing this dick.

I scrolled up as far as it would let me, surprisingly not far.

She must have deleted prior messages, or something, because the first message seemed to be in the middle of a conversation. Or this dude is just really forward. At this point anything is possible, I guess.

JJ: "Okay slut, show me your tits."

Evee: "Mmmm one second hubby is walking up" Man, what the fuck? While I'm home she's really texting some dude?

JJ: "I don't give a shit, slut. Tits. Now." The next was a picture in our bathroom. My wife's back was to the door and her top was pulled up over her braless tits. Her medium toned nipples were at their hardest. The top of the picture went up to her chin but the bottom went all the way down to her hips revealing that she was wearing flannel pajama bottoms.

Evee: "You like?"

JJ: "Yes, you're being a very good girl, Vicky."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the name Vicky. She has stopped multiple people, multiple times in mid conversation in the past when they called her Vicky in passing. She hated being called Vicky and now this fucking guy, JJ is telling her to pull out her tits and calling her Vicky...

I let that thought ruminate for a minute... calling her Vicky. It's a miracle my teeth didn't fucking break at how hard I was clenching my jaw.

JJ knows her name.

Someone, knows my wife's name, knows her, and can get away with calling her a slut, and more surprisingly (weirdly) get away with calling her Vicky. Who the fuck is this guy? When I looked back to the screen for answers it was blurry. I realized it wasn't from my hands shaking; (entirely) I wiped my leaking eyes and resumed reading.

JJ: "While you're there show me that tight little ass, baby"

Evee: "Anything else you want?" attached was a picture of her bent over with her ass pointed ¾ view toward the camera. My heart was pounding and my grip on the phone probably threatened to crush it.

JJ: "Who owns that ass, slut?"

Evee: "You do."

JJ: "And those slutty little tits?"

Evee: "YOU DO!" attached was another close up of her tits, this time her free hand was squeezing one of them really tight and pushing it into her chest. Her mouth was in view and biting her lower lip seductively.

JJ: "Mmmm good girl. Say bye to your owner properly now."

What happened next caused me to drop the phone and run over to the toilet and vomit – I'm entirely sure it wasn't from the hangover too. Right under JJ's last message was a picture that said at the top, "goodnight master" and under that in living-fucking-color was my wife, Victoria Davis's face making a kissy face at the screen, angled down to show her tits and naked body.

JJ: "Goodnight, little slut"

I was on the floor at the toilet after puking out whatever liquids remained in my stomach, breathing heavily. Trying to not hyperventilate. This guy, knows her name, he knows her fucking face, she obeys him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

While my mind was running through the word fuck ad infinitum, my body walked to the kitchen. I grabbed my phone from the cutlery drawer – drunk me would never think to check there after all. I didn't know what I was doing but I saw a text from Victoria on the lock screen, and immediately made a motion to throw my phone across the house in rage. I froze with my arm fully pulled back and managed to reason that doing that would not, in fact, end any of this nightmare, and only serve to leave me with a broken phone and probably a broken window or tv.

Her message read "I'm at Debra's. Text me when you've calmed down and want to talk about this. I'm really sorry and want to work this out. I love you." Fuck her.

I saw a bottle of very good whiskey on the counter as though a beam from the angels were shining upon it. I went to grab it, but so far, I was one-for-one on not giving into self-destruction and pulled back. As much as I wanted to drain that bottle of all it was holding, I knew it wouldn't help anything, or anyone. Fuck me, I was really gonna have to deal with this.

After I was done trying to convince myself of the merits of getting trashed again, I walked back to the bedroom and grabbed her phone. There weren't many other messages left in the thread, just the one leading up to "all for you." I figured out how to check the dates and the earliest viewable was last month.

It was still early and I hadn't moved, time must have passed because I heard the door open and shut. I heard my wife's footsteps crossing the house to our bedroom. Slipping the old phone into my pocket I stood up and turned around.

"Hey..." she said weakly. She wore no makeup and was dressed plainly in a hoodie and jeans. Hair messy, but brushed a bit. Her eyes were a little red from crying and she was looking at the floor.

"I'm going to choose my words carefully, Victoria. I need straight answers, none of this outrage bullshit – I really can't do this anymore." After a pregnant pause that filled the room and threatened to suffocate me. She looked at me and nodded.

"Have you been having sex with another man?" After a sharp sob and the falling of new tears she said no.

"Then Who is JJ?" She turned to stone on the spot, and began visibly shaking. I continued, "why does he know your name?" I gave her a second to answer but she was hiding behind her open hands at this point so I went on. "Why are you sending him naked pictures? How long has this been going on? Why the fuck is he calling you Vicky?!"

"Jim! Please, give me a second!" she yelled over my voice which was steadily rising.

"Were you really at your Debra's last night?" she looked genuinely hurt at that last one. Good.

"Yes, I was. I'm sorry I stormed off yesterday." She said as she walked to take a seat on out bed. With a sigh she began again, "JJ is just some guy on the internet, I swear."

"He has all those photos of you! Just 'some guy?' What the fuck is wrong with you Victoria?"

"I know, I know, I know. It's just I got so caught up in it and – and – and..." She trailed off into more crying.

I sat next to her on the bed, with plenty of distance between us.

"Alright... well, where do we go from here." I said to no one as she continued crying.

I left her to sob alone shortly after – instinctively I was going to console her and I was just too raw for that still. After she calmed down, she walked in the kitchen and for the next three hours I basically interrogated her. I learned that with any 'addiction' it started with her watching a little more porn, and diving deeper into fetish stuff. She found herself gravitating toward homemade porn. From there got into 'exposed' girls and housewives, seeing how sexy confident, scared, unknowing in some cases they were made her feel intensely horny.

From there she found blogs and discovered the kink communities online. After a few months of being a viewer, and deep into her body image issues, she posted a picture of herself. Naturally, the horny men behind their screens inflated her ego and on and on it went, her posts got racier and racier. Implicit nudity became explicit, and her confidence was back.

Apparently, JJ is one of her longest-time followers and has been messaging her for a long time. Innocently enough at first, and then it became less innocent. Then they traded pictures, and fetishes and explored each other's fantasies through messages pictures and some videos. When I pointed out to her that she has a fucking husband at home to do this shit with, she acknowledged that she didn't have a good reason not to, except she was ashamed of it all. From her body image problems, she thought it made her look weak and I guess she couldn't bear to be vulnerable in front of me. She basically went over all the things she yelled at me last night and gave more details. Whoever claims humans are logical creatures is wrong, and an asshole.

After she dumped this novel on me, I just sat there for a while, digesting it all. She naturally asked how I found out about all of this. I explained that it started with the locked closet and my suspicions snowballed further when I found her phone had a different lock code. I purposefully omitted the discovery of the old iPhone, and explained that I just used her thumbprint while she slept and found her Tumblr. I also truncated the time I'd known about that from a week to a day or two. She's proven herself to be a lying bitch already, and I'm not in a hurry to tip my hand right away.

We sat at the table for an hour and a half, going over new ground rules. I made her delete her tumblr in front of me. I watched her type out a message to JJ that it was over – whatever it was between them and made her promise no more secrets going forward. I looked through the entirety of her phone there were a lot of selfies and expected things for her to have among the pictures and videos of our daughter and family stuff. Her search history was a bit shocking - I was in no way a prude, but damn.

After a thorough search of everything on her phone and laptop, email etc. I was satisfied she never physically cheated on me. I told her to go get showered and get dressed like a whore – if she was going to be anyone's little slut, she would be mine.

...

Life was great for the next two years, Victoria and I had more intense sex than we'd had in the past few years. She was constantly teasing me and I was trying to keep up with all her kinks and explore her kinks with her. Telling her I owned her pussy was a common fixture, as was spanking her ass red and the occasional light choking.

I was definitely into it, and it was exciting learning she hadn't grown out of any of her nasty college kinkiness – if anything she had grown into more.

Life, however, has its way of getting in the way of things, and as it would natural happen the fiscal year came to a close and the accounting teams were scrambling to get the books looking pristine. At the same time the marketing teams were scrambling for the next year's big pushes and strategies. We were both working longer hours and knew it wouldn't let up for at least another few weeks.

That's when it happened. It was late-May, we had been long out of our respective work crunch-times. She was working late, for just one day a week, for the fourth week in a row. Now, had our previous incident not been swirling around in my head as background noise for the past two years, I wouldn't have even noticed. But it was, and I noticed.

She wasn't being deflective, in fact she had told me straight up she would be working late all four nights. But I worked at the same company. In those two years I had been promoted to head of accounting for our region. I knew she wasn't working on any huge projects that would warrant staying late consistently. Maybe she was trying to fish for a promotion and putting in extra time... maybe she was getting nailed by one of her coworkers.

Victoria walked at around 8:00pm, dressed in her gym clothes as she always does after work. Dark blue yoga pants with all the stylish vents and shit and a matching sports bra. I'm sure everyone at the gym was staring.

"How was work?" I asked as she was working her way through the door with her work and gym bag in hand.

"Same as always, just a bit longer today." She said smiling.

"Righto." I said, unsure of where to go from there.

She walked past me and kissed me on the cheek, as she entered the kitchen, then to our room. I found her twenty minutes later helping our daughter with her homework. One of those Norman Rockwell moments for sure, but there was something sinister lurking under the paint on this one. I slipped into the laundry room and looked for my wife's panties. Private eye Jim had emerged once again – for fuck's sake.

Everything was already in the wash... I didn't know if that was suspicious or not, but it felt like it was. Twenty minutes into walking in the door, first things she does is laundry? It turns out accountants aren't cut out to be detectives... My next lead would have to wait until night.

Late that night when I was sure she was asleep I slipped into her – now permanently unlocked – closet and grabbed that old phone of hers. It was in the same place, but not charged. Promising at least. I searched for one of those ancient G1 iPhone chargers and found one in the kitchen next to some D batteries... what a future indeed.

After waiting five minutes for the ancient device to charge enough to be bothered to turn on I was staring at the field of colorful squares. I went straight to Whatsapp, the last message on it was the last message I had seen around two years ago. What a relief, I guess. I checked all her email apps and noticed they didn't have any messages past two years ago either.

I slid up the pull up menu and saw that the phone was not connected to the wifi. After connecting I went back to Whatsapp. My blood went cold and my vision narrowed to pinhole. 'JJ last messaged 12 hours ago.'

JJ: "The green ones"

I opened the conversation and above his text was a picture message of her waist to her knees, covered in a tiny pair of pink panties. Above that same pose with dark red panties, then another with shiny emerald green panties, and a final one in black lacy boy shorts. The phone slid slowly out of my hand and crashed on the counter. I knew it was loud but I couldn't hear anything over the sound of my heartbeat.

I just stood there, I had been here before... I don't know if that made it better or worse. I picked up the phone and scrolled up just more of the same. Pictures of his dick, pictures of her tits and ass. Two years later, same asshole, my brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, and going nowhere.

A year and a few months after I made her delete everything and our marriage had become reinvigorated, he contacted her again. He contacted her and she responded.

JJ: "You looked good today"

Evee: "Just today?"

JJ: "Every day. But that smile looked really good, today."

Evee: "; )"

So, she initiated it I guess. I walked into our room and grabbed a few shirts and threw them in a suitcase, along with my toiletries. As I was about to exit, I saw that it was 5:00 am. I figured I may as well confront this today while Veronica was at school. So I waited around the house, unable and unwilling to sleep.

I was on her Facebook. I found the guy's name was Jay. I didn't know who he was offhand, but after narrowing her facebook down I found a few Jay's, but only one that worked with her; he just so happened to be the one who looked like the type of asshole to go after a married woman. And maybe more damning, the kind of asshole a married woman might fall for.

I found out he worked in the same department as her – a far cry from the initial lie she told me all that time ago of him just being some random on the internet she met in kink circles. There were pictures of him at clubs, and partying at places where people starved for attention go to be seen. He was all over the map it seemed. Often surrounded by women not wearing much – and that was just the stuff he shared on Facebook. One picture made my blood boil with a murderous rage. It was a group shot at an afterwork happy hour night, I recognized most of the faces from my wife's marketing team. Victoria and Jay were sitting just a little too close to each other. Not really enough for any sideways glances, I guess, but close enough to make me pissed. The date lined up perfectly with the fucking message he sent her that broke the ice... only two days prior.

I still had an hour before my daughter woke up for school, so I figured I may as well torture myself some more and went back into Whatsapp. The guy was definitely a player, as I saw he shared with my wife pictures of all manner of girl blowing him or riding his dick. These pictures were often accompanied by messages asking why my wife doesn't join in the fun. My wife would always respond either teasing him with "maybes" or with her own pictures. I determined that while they definitely flirt at the office, they never fucked and played it cool when they were together. There was one exchange where he asked if she dressed like that all the time, or if she dressed special, because she knew she would be seeing him that day.

She responded with a wink and a picture of her in a pair of fitted, pinstriped slacks with the waist pulled down and one of those fucking g-strings poking out of the top. "Does this answer your question?" she captioned. That earned her one of his stupid smug "good girl's" that she ate up and continued sending pictures of herself in various stages of undress.

I was deep in the rabbit hole when I heard my daughter walk in the room. She asked why I was sitting on the couch so early. I glossed over her question put the phone in my pocket and started making her breakfast.

By the time Victoria had walked out from the shower into the kitchen, Veronica was dressed and ready to go. Veronica walked over and her mom – my cheating slut wife – took her morning kiss on the forehead as she went to wait in the car.