Devila

Warning, you are entering a cuckold free zone. If you do not like stories of temptation, human frailty, and redemption, please does not read this story. You will not enjoy it. But, if you take solace that there are husbands and wives who fight to save their marriage I bid you read on.

I have received much encouragement and support after my first four stories. Today's story is a little different as I interviewed the wife. I tried my best to not color her words with a man's perspective.

As always, I remain a mere scribe and made no effort to verify the facts. Of course the names and locations have been changed to protect privacy.

If you enjoy Devila I encourage you to read my earlier works. Thank you.

*****

Philosophical introduction:

Men, if you learn only one thing today it's your wife's best friend will never become your best friend. Period. Not even close. No exceptions. Can't happen. You may become a second tier friend...but only when it is to her advantage. You will never be a party to their secrets, but she will own every confidence you share with your beloved. Sorry. Life ain't fair.

If her relationship is going good she will be a positive influence on yours. They will share love making tricks as casually as your mom swaps recipes. But if she is a woman scorned she will instantly become the jealous influence who will fog your wife's mind into thinking your marriage is a lot worse than it is. This can ultimately include leading her down the primrose path into having an affair or even divorcing you. Mind you, it's not that she has anything personal against you, often she'll do it because her life is in the crapper and is seduced by "misery loving company." And, if you're out of the picture, she gets her party buddy back.

Back story:

My best friend was Angela, never Angie, or, as my husband Bill calls her, Devila. In fact, I was just about Angela's only friend. We met on the first day of first grade; she was the bad influence my mother warned me about. The teachers recognized her preying on my submissive personality and tried, without success, to break us up all through elementary and middle schools. They only succeeded in forging a "united against the world" attitude in us.

In high school they did their best to separate us by assigning different classes. We still managed to spend lunch and study halls together. Angela always had some goofy plot to disrupt the school day. And they always seemed to involve me taking the risk. Mostly silly stuff, like the day she had me stand on a lunchroom table and sing the theme from Cabaret while doing a pretend strip tease. I got about half way through before I was removed by a couple of teachers; two days detention.

Another time she had me wear my bra, a black lacy one, over my blouse. I made it all the way to third period before I got busted; three days detention.

The worst was the time I got caught swimming naked; Angela was supposed to be keeping lookout. Instead she was sitting in the bleachers leading the cat calls. That was the first time Angela tricked me into going naked in public while she watched fully clothed. I got suspended for three days while my puppet master danced away scot free.

Just before we graduated the assistant dean warned me Angela had a Svengali like grip on my soul that would destroy my free will. She suggested I get professional help. I went straight home and dug out the dictionary my parents gave me when I was a freshman and looked up Svengali...'a person who exercises a controlling or mesmeric influence on another, especially for a sinister purpose.'

Maybe she was right. After all it was Angela who waxed my pussy bald and Angela who made me stop wearing panties under skirts. It was Angela taught me how to French kiss and how to...well, you get the idea. In fact, when I look back, every time I got into trouble Angela was standing behind me with a smirk on her face goading me on.

Neither of us went on to college but we stayed close after graduation. With only high school diplomas we got entry level jobs at local businesses and lived for the weekends. Every Friday and Saturday night you could count on finding us in some dive bar teasing the rubes into buying us drinks. To her credit, Angela always watched over me and kept me from becoming the town whore. This isn't to say she ever hesitated to show off my breasts or flash my shaved pussy if it would get us a round. But Angela was too possessive to ever share me with the losers we hung out with. She always teased she was saving my cherry for someone special.

Then one late August night Bill appeared. Literally, out of the darkness, like a god come down from Mount Olympus. We were standing in a poorly lit bar full of assholes when the crowd parted; a lone spot light flickered on. There, about twenty feet away, stood the most handsome man I ever saw. The beam of light bathed him in such an ethereal glow I wasn't even sure he was real.

He was staring at me but didn't say a word...the look on his face spoke volumes. I walked straight to him and introduced myself. Angela was not pleased.

Two hours later I went home with Bill. He was my someone special and I liked it.

My relationship with Angela became very strained as I spent increasing time with Bill. While she bounced from man-to-man, leaving a wake of frustrated blue-balled suitors in her path, we became a serious couple. I didn't realize until much later but I had replaced my submissive nature with a much healthier relationship, one in which we respected and supported each other.

This wasn't to say Angela released her grip without a fight. She constantly tied to tell me what to do, usually with the subtly of a 2 x 4 across the head. She was jealous of our relationship and did everything in her power to diminish if not destroy it. Bill has three sisters and, for the most part, wisely hid behind my skirt when the dark wind would blow. Just knowing he was with me, in mind and body, gave me the strength I needed to transfer my loyalty to the man I loved. For the first time I felt like an equal. It felt good.

Angela intensified her assaults, telling embarrassing stories at every opportunity. Bill just rolled his eyes and kissed me with more passion and intensity until she would storm out. The last blow came when Angela tried to get me to become partners in a get-rich-quick scheme flipping rehabbed houses. She took a free seminar on how to make a million dollars in real estate and was convinced this was our path to riches. Bill looked over the materials from the class and pronounced it a 'house-of-cards' that could only work if you commit mortgage fraud. Angela was furious and vowed to become a tycoon to show us. I tried to distance myself from her scheme but heard enough to know she was using fake tax returns and even the identity of her invalid grandmother to finance her empire.

There were many uncomfortable encounters but eventually we reached a fragile peace, something like Berlin during the Cold War.

We tried to include Angela and her man du jour in our lives but she wanted to relive the past and I had moved on.

Six months later Bill asked me to marry him. It was a magical night on a dinner cruise on Lake Michigan. He had a violin player serenade us when he dropped to his knee and popped the question. I damn near knocked him over when I lunged into his arms.

We threw a get together to announce our engagement. Naturally I asked Angela to be my maid of honor. Just as I was reveling in my big day she stole the limelight. Instead of a making toast to me and Bill Angela announced she was getting married the following weekend. This was quite a surprise since she said she wasn't dating anyone seriously the last time we talked. Out of the blue she produced a man whom she proclaimed was her fiancé. He looked like a frightened puppy. It seems Angela had found a new person to dominate.

Eventually, I was her matron of honor at all three of her weddings.

The first two divorces were Angela's idea; she simply had grown tired of her man pet. However she still rained down misery on all who she encountered, beating her chest as if she was being punished for the sins of the world.

I, being her best friend, received the brunt as she tried to suck me down her anti-man/marriage vortex. Thankfully both divorces coincided with very good times in my marriage, including promotions at work, buying a new house, European vacations, and the like, so her venom was easy to deflect.

Present date:

This time it was different. The most recent "till death do us part" began to unravel when her husband called her a manipulative bitch on their honeymoon. By the time they got home it was open warfare. Angela vowed a fight to the death; one week late number three disappeared into the mist. At least we think he left voluntarily, no one ever did see or hear from him again.

That same day all of the planets and stars in the heavens came into alignment for an eclipse of all that is light and goodness. This time Angela's darkness overlapped mine. And the bad news just kept coming.

That afternoon, my job was cut back to part time giving me far too much time to commiserate with Angela.

Bill was also suffering the effects of the Great Recession. He was a very successful commercial real estate broker and built his business on service. He had an incredible knack for knowing what his customers needed before they knew what they wanted. When the real estate boom collapsed, so too did his business. He struggled valiantly but had to face the inevitable. There were no rays of sunshine peeking over the horizon, just more black storm clouds. To his credit, on the day he had to close his office and layoff six people, he didn't look like a loser. He smiled and said, "Stick with me Babe, I have a plan."

Step one of the plan was to cut back all unnecessary expenses; that included my health club membership and our country club membership.

Step two was liquidation of unneeded assets. Bill was able to turn in his BMW and lease a practical Buick in its place. He also spent at least one afternoon a week selling surplus memories on eBay. I will admit he was rather successful in generating some quick cash. Lastly, he took out loans against our life insurance policies to gain some liquidity.

Step three was to work harder than he had ever worked in his life. And he attacked what little was left of the commercial real estate market with the zeal of a TV preacher.

He came home late that Friday looking beat down after calling on over 50 prospects. Despite having been turned away at every stop he still managed a smile. Then he gave me a handful of wild flowers that looked like he had picked from the side of the road. "Someday, I promise, I'm going to buy you a hundred roses."

I offered him dinner but he begged off saying he needed to sit for a while and think about what he could have done better. I went upstairs and cried thinking of how hard he was trying.

By the end of the month he had called on over 200 companies trying to get at least one to jump into the market while prices were lower than in decades. The only lead that looked like it had any promise was Mrs. Estelle Cartwright, a quirky widow who rode roughshod over her family. She was no less the tyrant when it came to those wishing to do business with her. The 90 year old scion kept Bill waiting for over four hours before her personal assistant told him to come back the next day at nine sharp.

That night he stayed up until two researching everything he could learn about his prospect. He was up before me and looked great in his lucky suit. I planted my best kiss on him and told him to bring home a signed contract.

When Bill got home he couldn't stop talking about how well his meeting went. He was very optimistic something good would happen because he was invited to a dinner meeting the following Friday to meet some of the other family members. "I guess we just hit it off," he said with a lilt to his voice I hadn't heard in quite a while.

Thus began his Friday night dinner meetings with various members of the widow's family. It seems her late husband had parceled out voting percentages of prime downtown Chicago land to all his descendants in his will; a total of fifty in all. Each received 2% of the estate and a 2/3 majority was required before construction on a 75 story hotel/condominium could commence.

The Cartwrights were the poster children for dysfunctional families with numerous blood feuds tearing it apart. Several even refused to be in the same room as their relatives. In order for the dear departed's dream to materialize his family would have to put aside years of animosity and mistrust. I t was a curious push from the grave trying to force his heirs to forge a partnership which would make all of them incredibly rich

A couple sold out to the widow opting for the quick cash. The rest were so suspicious of each other they couldn't agree on anything. Bill found it ironic they were so blinded by their lust for money that they refused to do the one thing which would fulfill their greed.

For six months Bill spent every Friday evening "brokering the deal of the century." On Saturdays they would have lunch together in the solarium of her Lake Forest mansion. They would then retire to her late husband's study where Bill would report how many proxies he had secured. They spent the rest of the day discussing strategies. Bill even drew up a flow chart trying to discern potential alliances.

After a couple of months I started to become very jealous of her for monopolizing his time...not that we could afford to do anything besides watch TV.

To his credit, every week Bill invited me to come with but I always found some excuse to keep from supporting my man in his time of greatest need. I guess I was growing more resentful of the downturn in our lifestyle and how much time my husband was spending trying to get us back on top. He would come home dog tired on Fridays but by then, I am ashamed to say, I was either asleep or feigning it.

Our marriage was definitely on shaky ground, at least according to impartial Angela who seized the opportunity to fill the void. We began hanging out every Friday night. It began with an inexpensive dinner, fast food, her treat, and window shopping or a movie; soon we were stopping at a bar for just one nightcap. After a couple of months she suggested a lounge she knew with a live band.

Angela danced with anyone who would buy her a drink. I refused every drink proffered, announcing I was a married woman and would buy my own. I was probably the only patron who paid for their cocktail with a couple of wrinkled singes and handful of loose change. I didn't have enough money to buy a second and nursed the one until the ice cubes melted and nothing was left but a squeezed out lime. Angela constantly lectured me on how impolite I was being by refusing to let these nice men buy me a social drink. I stood my ground and said a polite, "no thank you."

Despite this I was a magnet for every lounge lizard in northeastern Illinois. Most men consider an unaccompanied woman sitting at a bar to be a challenge. I heard more BS lines than I could count and declined an ocean of drinks.

I was very selective in who I would dance with. I made certain the potential dancer understood that he if he did not treat me like a lady he would suffer the consequences. Several groins felt the pain of my knee when their owner's tried to cop a feel.

I love my husband but admit I was tempted more than once to allow some strange man with a come-hither look and a firm bulge in his pants to help me forget our money problems. Despite Angela's encouragement I held my ground.

After a few weeks Angela made friends with a man who looked like he should be on the cover of a fitness magazine. Matthew looked like his sport coat would split if he flexed his shoulders. Imagine her surprise when he declined her offer to have sex with her. This snub made her all the more aggressive.

For the next two Fridays she tried every trick she could think of to bed him. Instead he remained a total gentleman to the point where I actually accepted a drink from him. A big benefit in drinking with him was he frightened away the bar flies. Angela was not amused to see us talking and laughing together. On our ride home she lectured me on loyalty between sisters. I assured her I had no designs on Matthew.

On Monday Angela called to say she had an extra ticket, second row center, for a Garth Brooks concert I was dying to attend. She had even arranged a male accompaniment for me. She described him as a drop dead stud and said he couldn't wait to meet me.

I turned her down flat. "There's no way I'm cheating on my husband."

"You don't have to cheat on him," she hissed like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. "All you have to do is be polite and enjoy dinner and a concert."

"So now it's dinner too."

"Honey, it always was."

The verbal sparring continued throughout the week. Little by little I could feel our old relationship dynamic returning. Strange, after almost a year of fighting to survive, compromises in my lifestyle, and doing without, it actually felt good to shut my brain off and be led; it felt comfortable, like wearing an old pair of shoes

On Tuesday two things happened that swayed my decision.

First, Bill said he had been offered a position heading up the foreclosure division of a real estate liquidation company. The base salary was barely more than he was getting from Unemployment Compensation but it did offer benefits including medical insurance and a company car. Bill shook his head and described the job as a modern Simon Legree, throwing widows and orphans to the curb. The truth wasn't far from that. He would supervise a crew who evicted the former owners and disposed of their possessions under the protection of a sheriff's deputy. It was a horrible job but I was furious when Bill said he turned it down without even discussing it with me.

The second kick in the ass came when Bill said he had sold my car... my car! My beautiful little red Mazda Miata convertible! I don't care that it had over 150,000 miles and burned a quart of oil with every fill up. I loved that car and he sold it without even asking me. I totally lost it and waged the dirtiest, nastiest fight we ever had. I called him every name I could think of and said "this ain't over by a long shot. I will get revenge!" Bill hung his head and said only two words, "I'm sorry." That night I slept alone for the first time since we were married.

Bill was gone when I woke up. Where, I didn't know. But evil can always sense an opportunity and Angela popped in for a cup of coffee.

Even with me more pissed off at my husband than I had ever been it still took Angela a lot of arm twisting before I agreed to be the fourth wheel. I told Angela he had better not be expecting anything more than good conversation. She gave me her sinister laugh and said, "You'll change your mind when you see him. He's as good looking as he is rich."

"How rich is rich?"

Angela laughed and said, "rich-rich. And he likes to spend it on beautiful women."

That night Bill asked if he could please speak with me. I ignored him and walked upstairs to our bedroom. To make sure he knew he was not welcome I slammed the door as hard as I could. 'I hope you like sleeping on the couch,' I thought.

Bill was gone when I got up. He did, however, have coffee all set up for me. Next to my cup was a small glass with a handful of wildflowers which he had picked in our yard. I threw them in the garbage.

Angela called as I was taking the bus to work. It was packed and I had stand and hold a strap while I talked. I told her looking forward to my date. I couldn't believe I used that word because it should have felt so wrong; instead I was aroused. Tomorrow evening could not come soon enough.