Since my last story, Scorched Earth, appeared I have heard from several men who had a similar cheating wife tale to tell. When I encouraged them to write it for Literotica each begged off saying they were not writers.
After some discussion I agreed to interview each by phone and write their experience so others in similar situations can see how they resolved the problem. If this story is well received I shall write the next.
Once again, this story was told to me by a complete stranger. I asked him to change the names and locations so it is quite impossible for me to verify its accuracy. Did it really happen or am I a gullible romantic. I leave it to the reader to decide.
Keeping in mind the old adage, the story was so good that if it didn't happen it should have, I present for your consideration Birth Day Club.
*****
Amy was my first girlfriend. I was her first boyfriend. We got married the Sunday after we graduated high school because we'd rehearsed the honeymoon a little early. I don't think anyone was fooled by the white wedding gown; we were eight month pregnant when we made it legal.
Things were pretty hard at first but my family was fantastic. We lived in their basement which had some great advantages including free rent and free baby sitters-thanks mom and dad-while we attended college. It took a little longer but we both earned degrees from the University of Illinois.
Pastor Roberts must have done real good when he pronounced us "'till death do you part' because a couple decades later we still acted like newlyweds. Our friends, particularly the men, gave us a hard time because we still held hands and kissed for no reason. Anyone who saw us knew we were lovers for life who took the "forsaking all others vow very literally."
Life was good. We both had careers we enjoyed, a nice house in the suburbs, and our son was on a full ride scholarship at a Big 10 school. I guess I was so happy I never saw the first hints storm clouds were gathering on the horizon.
It all began when Amy was invited to join a group of friends from high school who gathered once a year for a Birth Day Club. They met at a restaurant and exchanged inexpensive gifts while catching up on their lives and families over the last year.
This was a classic hens night...no men allowed. The waitresses must have hated them because there would be separate checks. About half were on perpetual diets and ordered water while the balance nursed a glass of house wine until more was lost to evaporation than consumption. The tip jar didn't overflow with that group.
It may sound cruel but most of the members of the BD Club would have trouble getting laid in a lumber camp. Most were divorced and bitter; they were also overweight, badly dressed, and looked older than their forty years on this planet. There were, however, a couple of exceptions, most notably my wife, Amy. She turned heads everywhere she went. Unfortunately, her vanity, especially after a couple of cocktails, made her an attractive target to predators.
She always laughed when I chased off some weasel who tried to talk her up at a party, saying I was cute when I acted jealous. She would swear she would never give me a reason not to trust her. "It's not you I'm worried about would be my answer."
So life went on...seasons change. Gradually the BD Club evolved from once a year to every six months than to monthly. I never begrudged my wife a night out because it gave me an evening alone to do whatever I wanted; or nothing at all.
Amy started out dressing down for the Club, a nice pair of pants or a knee length skirt, a plain blouse, and a jacket or sweater. Underneath she wore a formidable bra that looked like a floatation device and a pair of non-descript white underwear. When she came home we would go straight to bed, but not to sleep. Amy once said after listening to the men haters spout their anti-marriage venom she wanted to do something special for me; a nice, vanilla, missionary style fuck.
Call me dense but I never connected the dots when my wife began wearing Victoria's Secret lingerie to BD Club. I honestly thought she did it to look hot for me when she got home. I mean, the main reason I looked forward to Club night was Amy started coming home all randy and ready to shake the headboard. We fucked like teenagers in heat. I actually had a fleeting thought about asking about her sudden amorous state but after 21 years of marriage a guy learns not to question a striptease followed by an enthusiastic suck and fuck from his wife.
That all changed the day I received the call.
The woman's voice said, "If you want to know what your loving wife has been up to you'll shut up and listen." I said, "Okay." She sounded familiar but I couldn't place her.
Over the next thirty minutes she regaled me with the tale of how my wife earned the nickname Bar Bait.
It seems about six months ago Birth Day Club settled on Rick's Hi-way Lounge for their monthly get together. At first they gave any men who wandered over to their table the bums rush. Then one night a round of drinks appeared from "the guy at the end of the bar." He held up his drink in a toast to the group but never left his bar stool. Diane, one of the lesser thinkers, wandered over to thank him on her way back from the ladies room. That was all the invitation he needed to lay claim to the empty chair next to my wife. Their eyes flashed at this break in etiquette. Nothing was said but the club got up in unison to leave. He tried to joke, "Was it something I said?" as they filed out.
The next month a different loser sent a drink over for Amy, but no one else. She sent it right back. Her friends taunted "cheap-cheap" like a bunch of hungry birds as the loser slunk away.
Somehow Amy forgot to mention that funny story when we talked about her evening. Instead all I had heard was how sad and empty her friend's lives were.
My mystery caller continued,
The following month two men, early thirties at best, sat down at the bar. They immediately caught the eyes of the club as they were a step above the typical clientele, both in looks and dress. Polite smiles were exchanged.
That was the first night the bar offered music and dancing and there was now a two drink minimum. Their low budget evening was falling apart when they saw the new drink prices. The two men at the bar overheard their chorus of whines about how expensive everything was and offered to buy a round to toast the birthday girls. While they debated accepting the offer two huge platters of appetizers appeared on their table. "Compliments of the gentlemen from the bar," the waitress announced. The club set on them like locust on a field of grain.
The consensus was they would accept one round of drinks. Carol stood up and shouted at Amy, "Good work bar bait, looks like you hooked us a couple guys who aren't afraid to spend money on beautiful women." Everyone roared and the nickname stuck.
Before Amy's lips touched her Gray Goose vodka gimlet Dick, the obvious leader, shed his wingman, Louis, and started to cull her from the herd. "I'm guessing you're thirty, maybe thirty one at most," was his opening line. She laughed. "You need glasses." And the game was on.
Louis eyeballed the group and squeezed a chair between Laura and Mandy, two of the more presentable member of the group.
When the band started playing Dick monopolized Amy while Louis got passed around like a cold. He did not look like he was having as much fun as his friend who had managed to back Amy into a dark corner of the dance floor. She put up a good fight but eventually let him keep his hands on her ass when they slow danced.
Another round of drinks was delivered, compliments of Dick and Louis. These were hoisted in a toast to the beautiful birthday girls.
When the band took a breather they returned to their table. Dick tried to pull Amy onto his lap. After a brief struggle she broke away and excused herself to go to the ladies room. As was routine, three of the women joined her.
While she sat in a stall her wonderful friends were giggling like high school girls at a sock hop; they also were encouraging her to shit on our marriage for a couple trays of appetizers and two rounds of drinks.
"I think he likes you!"
"He is soooo fine." Patti said. "I would do him in a second."
"He would kill you!"
"I would die with a smile."
Amy did not respond to the banter which continued for several more minutes until, with make-up restored, they pronounced themselves beautiful again.
Then one of those fortuitous things happened. As they were walking back to the table a random bar patron bumped into Amy and spilled a bloody Mary all over her white blouse. She went back into the ladies room and tried to wash it out. When she saw how transparent her wet blouse was she buttoned up her jacket and announced she was calling it a night. Several others commented how fast the night had slipped by and said they were also leaving.
A couple of the women tried to talk Amy into staying but she stood firm and circled the table giving cheek kisses to her friends. Dick, pretending to be gallant, offered to walk my wife to her car. She naively accepted.
I left about a couple of minutes later," the caller continued. "I saw Amy try to give him a friendly peck on the cheek but he turned his head and forced his tongue into her mouth. After a few seconds she stopped resisting and responded. Without breaking his kiss that bastard lifted her onto her car's hood and got her skirt bunched up around her waist. The parking lot isn't too well lit but I could see she was wearing nylons and garters and his hands were where they shouldn't be. I hate to say this John but she wasn't trying to stop him. But you got lucky that night. Before he could do anything more big mouth Carol and Patti showed up and started chanting, "We know what you're doing...we know what you're doing. That put a stop to things right away.
Amy pushed him off and said "I have to go home"
