Cheating - a Love Story

NINJAS AND NIGHTS OUT

The way of Shinobi demands the eye of the eagle, the stealth of the mongoose, the swiftness of the cheetah and the patience of the horse. Standing there in my black hooded keikogi and facemask, with my felt shoes and my crossed katana on my back, I was all of those things; as well as a little pissed off.

Assuming an air of profound oriental serenity, I watched the party going on around me with my eagle eye, particularly my wife Millie.

Millie had adopted the persona of the Catwoman for the evening. This was the brick shithouse version played by Halle Berry, not Julie Newmar's more sedate costume. Millie might be 42 years old. But she still had the body to totally rock a get-up like that.

She was laughing and talking with the four people who surrounded her. There were a couple of pirates, Mighty Thor and whatever Han Solo would look like if he was 40ish and overweight. The pirates were Jim and his wife Sue, who had arranged the party. The Thor, who was anything but MIGHTY, was our next door neighbor Sam. Han was a local cockhound named Bill.

Millie is hugely endowed in the boobs department and her skin-tight costume left very little to the imagination. Watching Bill devour her with his eyes made me wish that the nunchaku on my belt were real.

I helped her pick out that costume. I was pushing for Little Red Riding Hood, or perhaps something in the way of chain mail. But she insisted on going in an outfit more suited to the spirit of the event and her voluptuous body.

Simply put, Millie is stacked. As she has gotten into her 40s she has become a lot more liberated from her earlier body issues, when she was embarrassed by her big jugs. But her newer more secure self was a little unsettling to the likes of me.

I really didn't think that she realized the effect that her body, in that get-up, had on men; or then again perhaps she did.

As I watched she talked and danced and generally used her splendid curves to assemble an impressive array of male admirers.

~

I was not even supposed to be at the party. I had an event in Vegas for the weekend.

I couldn't get out of it because I was one of the featured speakers. Millie offered to go with me, since we are seldom apart.

But this costume party is a once a year event at our golf club. And our club is 300 yards up the street from our house. So we had both agreed that Millie should go to the party without me.

I got into Vegas midafternoon that Friday. I was met at McCarran by the publisher's rep. He had a favor to ask.

The guy who was supposed to keynote the entire event was held up in LA and couldn't make it until the next day. So would I be willing to switch to Friday night?

He knew that asking me to step out in front of 500 people with no preparation whatsoever was a huge imposition. But he swore that they would make it up to me with a penthouse at the Bellagio for the two nights of the conference.

And they were all sure that I could pull it off.

I was delighted; since it meant that I could exchange my ticket for a return the following morning and still join Millie at the party. And spending one night living like a plutocrat was just icing on the cake.

I told him to forget about the second night and I would see him at 7:00.

There was still plenty of time before the show and so I stopped at Star Costumes and picked up a snazzy ninja outfit for tomorrow night. I have always seen myself as the stealthy assassin type, rather than the big man on campus Samurai anyhow.

I was going to call Millie as soon as I got checked in and tell her that I would make it back in time for the party. But I got caught up prepping for the presentation and time got away from me.

The presentation itself went off exactly the way I wanted it to. I am a closet stand-up comic and I don't think I have done a good job unless the audience is rolling in the aisles. I pegged the laugh-o-meter several times that night and so when I finished up I was feeling very full of myself.

The next stop is always the publisher's party. I was leaning on a wall doing what I like to do, which is observing the interplay among the guests. I was sipping my second Johnny Walker Blue and watching numerous long-term affairs and one-night-stands getting off the ground when I heard a sultry voice say, "You should have been in comedy".

I turned to see who this extremely perceptive individual was, and locked onto the most smoking hot pair of emerald eyes that I had ever beheld.

And the face and figure attached to those eyes would have made Jessica Rabbit look dowdy.

I choked on my drink but managed a "thank you" as I was wiping $95 a shot scotch off of my lapels. She looked amused.

She was one of those women whose figure can best be described as two watermelons attached to a broomstick. And she knew what her assets were, since the expensive turquoise dress that matched the red hair was cut in a way that made me suspect she was using super-glue to preserve her modesty.

I said just to make conversation, "I assume you were at the talk". She said that she was indeed and then proceeded to point out 10 fallacies in my logic, which rather than pissing me off intrigued me.

I am a sucker for smart women.

I said, "Perhaps you would like to argue about this someplace where the noise is a little less distracting."

She gave me a look like it was about time I asked and said, "Lead the way." I strolled over to the Lilly bar with her sashaying along next to me, chattering about gambling mentalities.

Once we got ourselves situated in a nice little corner booth I said, "You know who I am. So who are you?"

It turned out that she was a 28 year old grad student at UNLV getting a PhD in English.

I didn't editorialize about the cost-benefit of that choice, since I didn't want to discourage her. I also didn't ask the obvious question, which was, "How did you manage to get into the event?" because it was obvious that she was wearing her credentials.

I marveled at the male mind and the women who take advantage of it.

We talked for quite a while and she proceeded to get shitfaced drunk. I could see where that was heading, which was up to my suite, when she said rather conversationally, "Why don't you fuck me now."

Notwithstanding the fact that I am totally committed to my wife and my marriage, I just don't find sleeping with women who are young enough to be my daughter a good idea.

And I was not stupid enough to think that she wanted to fuck me because of any marked resemblance to George Clooney, NOT!

She wanted to be able to go back and tell all of the gang at the campus malt shop about her evening of passion with the semi-famous author, who was the stand-in for the REALLY famous one.

So I steered her out to the concierge and told him to make sure she got home safe and to charge the taxi or limo, or whatever he put her into, to my room. My publisher owed me.

Then I proceeded to go upstairs to bed. I called Millie to let her know I would make the party after all.

It went straight over to voicemail which was understandable since even though it was 11:00 in Vegas it was 2AM back home and she had probably turned off the phone for the night. I was going to leave a message and then I had a brilliant idea. I would surprise her. So I just told her how much I loved her.

~

The flight back was the usual bitch. Air travel used to have some class. But now all I can think of as I go through the shenanigans at the airport is the theme song from "Rawhide".

And I hate eastbound coast-top-coast travel anyhow because it moves the clock up 3 hours.

Vegas flights are the worst because they have a lot of first time travelers on them and you always get some guy in the seat next to you who has probably been drinking for 24 straight hours prior to boarding.

So with the hour and a half ground stop in Denver and the fat drunken broad who slept with her head on my shoulder for six hours I didn't get into JFK until 7:00 that night. I was very close to committing homicide, just to make a statement about the airline industry.

Millie was obviously not going to pick me up so I rented a car and drove the 40 minutes home. She had already gone to the party, which I could hear up the block, and the kids were at their grandparents. So I had plenty of time to get into my ninja gear.

I added two fake crossed katana and a pair of plastic nunchucks that I had gotten out of 15 year old Jason's childhood toy chest. He had outgrown them long ago and Leonardo and Michelangelo could spare them for the evening.

I was a vision of ninjitsu. I crept stealthily into the party. It was going full blast and since there are very few ninjas in the neighborhood at that time of night, everybody just assumed that I was a guest.

I ran into Mike and his wife Jill as soon as I got up to the bar. He and I play golf a lot with our wives. He said, "Great costume buddy!" He didn't have a clue that it was me.

I thought, "Hmmmm?" Millie has told everybody that I am in Vegas and this costume seems to be foolproof, maybe I should just sit back for a minute or two and see what REALLY goes on in my infrequent absences?

Now, I hear you asking why I would do something that devious. Well, I have always wondered how my wife acts in social situations, when I am not around. And I had some cause to want to reassure myself.

It was absolutely NOT like I thought she was fucking around on me. We had settled that question a year earlier.

But, we all put on different personalities for different situations and I was curious what a Millie unfiltered by the presence of moi was really like.

I admit it. I am perhaps a little over-fascinated by my own wife but if you knew that package of wit, creativity and sheer intelligence you would be willing to indulge me.

And there is also the matter of that remarkable ass in a pair of skin tight leather pants with clearly no underwear

When I first knew her she was a bit of a wallflower. In mixed groups now, she is friendly, clever and vivacious; but not particularly forthcoming.

The Millie I was seeing out there was nothing like that. She was much flirtier than any of the Millies that I knew. And she had a gaggle of men following her around like they were dogs in heat.

And she was clearly enjoying the attention.

She is a beautiful woman in any situation. But clad in a cat suit at a drunken party at a golf club she was remarkable.

None of the women came close to that package of sheer femininity. She has huge tits. Uplifted like they were in a leather halter they were mouthwatering. Her 40 year old tummy, which the suit exposed from her boobs down to just above her pussy, is still shapely. But her hips and ass are what will set off the male of the species.

She has the roundest tightest ass and hips. They scream female "fertility". The effect of those hips and legs clad in skin tight leather was unfair to all of the men at the party and maybe one of the females; if what I had heard about Helen Morgan was true.

Millie is an intelligent and wickedly humorous woman and that quality was on full display as she stood among her gang of admirers. They kept bringing her drinks.

I didn't need to be a ninja master to figure out what they were up to. They were trying to get her drunk. And the drunker she got the freer they got with their hands.

She danced with all of them, moving her body in a way that suggested the incredible sexual heat that I know she can muster. She danced the slow dances with her arms around the neck of her partner, her huge boobs squashed into their chests, head resting dreamily on their shoulder and playing with their hair.

She allowed the occasional hand to slip down and cup her ass and she must have been very aware of the poking she was getting because her partners were all left with a serious woody when she finished having her way with them.

Most of these guys were married and so I was not particularly worried. Their wives would keep them on their leash. But Han, Bill that is, was recently divorced and I could see that he would have to be watched.

There was not a chance that I was going to let a horny weasel like Bill fuck the wife of a master of shinobi. Millie might have talked, danced and flirted with all of the men. But "Han" was always in the background. And his attentions were about to get his ass kicked.

~

The party petered out at around 1:00 and my now visibly hammered wife said her goodbyes and headed for the door.

The guys had been relentlessly plying her with alcohol. I don't know what they thought they were going to get out of that since they all had chaperones.

It was probably just the natural guy instinct to get the pretty girl drunk.

She had ben slurring her speech for the past half hour and was lurching along. I wasn't going to let her walk home like that even if it was only a three minute walk. So I moved quickly to intercept her.

I knew she would kill me if she thought I had been watching her socialize for two solid hours but I had a story warming up in the bullpen about how I had just gotten in and rushed to be with her.

Unfortunately I was not quick enough. Han Solo appeared next to her taking her arm and making cooing solicitous noises. I backed off. I was concerned but I wanted to see how far she would let things go. I am not naturally jealous but every male on the planet has a "fidelity" gene that wonders about the wife.

Nothing was going to happen of a permanent nature. I would guarantee that. But I wanted to see if she would handle that slime ball or let him make a more aggressive move. He had his arm around her naked waist supporting her as they meandered their way up the walk toward our house. I followed stealthily.

The ferocious shadow warrior would have been hard to see, even if the light had been better. But in the dark of our exclusive neighborhood I was more-or-less invisible.

They had gotten to our front porch when he turned her and smashed his mouth down on her. She moaned and put her hand behind his neck and responded with one of her hot open mouthed kisses.

Millie burns hotter than any woman I have ever known. It is probably a fraction of a degree but her mouth and her pussy are literally hot. And when she kisses you she is totally open to you, and totally all-there, as if nobody else existed. I have had sex with women where the experience was not as intimate as one of her kisses.

That went on for an uncomfortably long period of time, perhaps ten seconds. My jealousy meter was about to blow up from sheer stress and I was sharpening my katana for both of them.

Then she broke the kiss and said, "Thank you Bill" turned and started toward the door. He had been rewarded for his gallantry in walking her home and now it was time for her to go to sleep.

Bill was not having any of that by a long shot.

He walked quickly past her, turned her toward him and began to try to kiss her again.

She said, "Stop it! It was very pleasant tonight. Don't spoil it!" He said, "You cock teasing bitch. You have been giving me signals all night that you want me to fuck you."

She said, "I'm sorry if you got that impression but I have no interest in fucking you, or anybody else but my husband, EVER!"

Bill gave a low growl and literally ripped the bra part of the Catwoman costume off her. She was now standing on our front porch naked with those huge incredibly delectable boobs on full display.

He grabbed her and dragged her back against him saying, "I'm going to fuck you right here on your living room floor and you're going to love it slut."

He had one arm twisted behind her, holding her by her buns against his hard-on. He began to maul one gorgeous tit with the other hand as he lowered his face toward her.

I could see that she was trying to knee him in the balls but he was too close. She was squirming as he pressed his lips to hers. Then he yelled, "Ahhh" and backed up holding his lip. She had bitten him.

In response he slapped her hard and angry and she fell to the ground.

That was when the full fury of the orient fell on him.

I hit him from behind on the back of his shoulders with my arms straight out and with the weight of my angry run behind it.

It was a violent push, which was designed to whiplash him and drive him face-first into the wall.

He was considerably bigger than me, but he didn't know how to fight. He was thinking Marquess of Queensberry. I was thinking any handy way to inflict maximum pain.

He turned angry in a boxing stance and before he could react I stepped into him and gave him a Glasgow kiss. The effect of that massive head butt must have broken his cheekbone along with his nose. His blood gushed all over my forehead and he dropped like he had been shot. I thought, "Geez I hope I didn't kill him."

Millie was just getting her wits back and starting to rise as I dragged Han back off the porch and kicked him in the balls a couple of times just for good luck. The little voice in my head was growling, "Try to fuck my wife will you!"

I was working on instinct. But as I thought about it, it seemed like a good idea that the mysterious ninja should quickly disappear back into the night.

Millie was getting unsteadily to her feet as I threw the still unconscious Han Solo over my shoulder fireman style. The fact that Millie was dazed from his hitting her didn't make me handle him gently.

I had not wanted to block our driveway with the rental so it was parked two houses down on the other side of the street.

I dropped Han rather vigorously next to the car. Got in and drove stealthily off. Millie was watching my car as I drove away. Then I saw her turn, still naked from the waist up and head shakily into the house closing the door.

I was on my cell calling 911 to report a person lying by the side of the road. I figured he was just far enough up the street that the police wouldn't connect the dots and I was pretty sure Bill would not enlightened them.

Somehow "A mysterious ninja attacked me while I was trying to rape my neighbor's wife" just didn't sound like a good story to tell. It would probably be a faceless gang of muggers instead.

I thought for a minute before I called Millie. She needed plausible deniability. Besides being terribly embarrassing the whole incident could have criminal prosecution overtones for me. And so the shadow warrior had to be nowhere near the scene of the crime.

The beauty of the situation was that not one person knew that I was the ninja. Nobody had seen my face all evening and everybody thought I was in Las Vegas. So as I drove off down the Southern State Parkway back toward JFK, I called Millie.

She answered just before it went over to voicemail. She sounded like she had been crying. I said as brightly as I could muster, "This is your goodnight call sleepy head. How was the party". She said rather meekly, "It was nothing much. It was very boring actually. When shall I pick you up?" I said, "11 AM, I'll wait outside the terminal so you don't have to park."

I actually needed to meet her outside because I had already gone through airport security the day before. She said, "I'll be there. I missed you more than I can tell you." She sounded a little depressed and weepy. I said, "Well I miss you more and I love you more than that."

The guy at the airport Marriott didn't even bat an eye when I checked in wearing black keikogi and felt shoes. I was carrying the hood and the mask and the plastic katana and nunchucks were in a trash can outside. They see a lot of things around an airport

I slept that night dreaming of Millie and her sexuality. Every husband wants a wife who is a perfect lady in the living room and a wildcat in the bedroom and for as long as I have known her Millie has been one of those.