Dont Get Mad Get Ahead

You don't need to know my favorite color, bra size, or political affiliation to understand me or my story. All you really need to know about me is that I got a B S in Computer Science from a top 50 college, with a minor in applied art, in four years; and I ended up marrying Jason Barnes about three years before the meat of this story starts when we were both 25 years old. I married Jason primarily because he was the best looking guy to ever show an interest in me; so I guess I made the same mistake as a female that lots of males do -- I went more by looks than was justified.

Oh, I guess you also need to know my name; Allison Barnes nee Compton; and importantly my mantra is similar to "don't get mad, get even," although the way I apply it I really mean "get ahead" instead of "get even."

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After I got to know Jason much better when we were together every day -- we never lived together before marriage -- I started to see that Jason was really high on Jason, and not as high on Allison as I had thought when he proposed. Also, Jason was all about his reputation as being really macho and virile including the sports he played (lacrosse and ice hockey), his taste in video games (Street Fighter VI and Doom), casual clothes (black leather Sherpa jacket, worn leather pants), rides (he drives a tricked-out Dodge Viper -- used; he doesn't have a hundred grand to spare for a new one), food (bacon cheeseburgers and barbecued ribs), and drinks (martinis and margaritas). While to me it doesn't really fit in with being macho he also turned out to be homophobic (something that I also learned only after our nuptials). Still marriage was decent because he wasn't in any way abusive, did do some decent things for me, and the sex was consistently very good.

Then things changed one Saturday night after we had been married a little less than three years when he got drunk at a party and I had to drive us home.

Him getting drunk was not a real problem for me because he was a happy-go-lucky drunk. What was a problem was after we got home and hit the sack what he called me in the throes of passion as he was moving his girthy cock in and out of my pussy at a speed higher than I thought probable considering his level of intoxication -- "Cheryl."

Those of you who are really perceptive will remember that my name is Allison, which is not even close to Cheryl.

I still enjoyed my orgasm, but as soon as my climax dissipated I did a mental to-do list in my mind before falling asleep. The to-do list included finding out who all the Cheryls that he could know were and if he was fucking one of them.

It turned out that I didn't have to work very hard to find the relevant information. The company that he worked for had a picnic two weeks after the "Cheryl incident" and lo and behold one of his co-workers was a cow named Cheryl. I call her a cow because she has a large set of mammaries, even though no tail and she didn't weigh 1200 pounds. Her face wouldn't launch a thousand ships, but she wasn't bad looking, nor did a discussion with her reveal halitosis. I thought that Jason was smarter than to shit where he ate, however, since he had a higher rank in the company than Cheryl and the company was very keen to avoid any type of claim of sexual harassment.

Observing Jason and the aforesaid Cheryl at the company event, and then doing an on-line and computer investigation (Jason wasn't particularly computer savvy and underestimated my computer and on-line skills because being a woman I couldn't be that technologically knowledgeable, could I?) it only took two more weeks to have as good a proof of an affair as I was going to get absent a video of them actually fucking.

That was the start of my "don't get mad, get ahead," plan. I figured that it would take one year to pull it off the way it needed to be done to satisfy my desire for retribution, and within a week I got started on my plan. My strategy was to hit him where it hurt the most -- his reputation for being a virile macho guy, and his pocketbook.

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One of the first things that I did was to open a very hard-to-trace brokerage account using an alias that I had developed all the necessary paperwork (and digital portfolio) for while I was still in college. Into that went a raise I had gotten that I hadn't told Jason about, and where I would be putting other money I skimmed from our accounts and from selling Jason's property on eBay.

Another early thing that I did was using both my artistic and computer abilities to make a fake driver's license for Cheryl and another for a woman named Abigale who was her bestie and shared a house with Cheryl and had to know of her fling with Jason. I got good photos of them from their numerous social media posts and the final fake licenses looked authentic. They wouldn't fool law enforcement or someone with a really keen eye but for use as identification with organizations who supposedly check IDs but don't really give a crap would work just fine.

The next thing that I did was to buy several debit cards with cash and use one of the debit cards to get Jason a subscription to "Gay Times" magazine sent to him at his office -- which of course would go through the mail room and would likely be plopped on his desk in the open plan office space his desk was in where others could see it. Simultaneously with that I did a profile for him on a gay hookup website indicating that he was particularly interested in sucking a cock right after it had cum in his asshole.

Once I knew that at least two issues of Gay Times had been delivered -- which he never talked with me about, although some days he came home from work more stressed than he had been in the past -- I had another gay magazine ("Queer Caballero") sent to him at our condo. I made sure that I collected the mail the week that the first issue was to arrive.

When Jason got home from work the Friday that the first edition of Queer Caballero arrived at our condo I met him in the kitchen with a bourbon bottle sitting in front of me and a stern expression on my face. His cheery "Hi Honey" turned into a frown when he saw my look of concern. "Something wrong, Honey?" he inquired.

"Is there a secret that you've been hiding from me?" I asked with a hurt tone to my voice.

I could see the wheels turning in his head "Does she know about Cheryl?" as he started to sweat, both literally and figuratively.

"Na...na...no," he finally stammered out. "Why do you ask?" wiping a bead of sweat from his lip.

I maliciously tossed the issue of Queer Caballero on the table and asked "Then how do you explain this? Are you really gay and have sex with me just to keep up pretenses, and do you use a condom with your gay buddies?" I asked in quick succession, pretending to tear up.

When he saw the magazine he started swearing. "Some asshole is pulling my chain," he scowled as he picked up the tabloid, and then quickly dropped it when the first page he turned to pictured one guy with his dick up another guy's poop chute. "I've gotten another magazine at work that I've tried to have stopped, but with no luck so far, and I keep getting emails and texts from guys asking to meet me to suck their cocks," he almost screamed in frustration and then dejectedly dropped down on a chair across the kitchen table from me.

I played the role of a skeptic well, and after he cajoled, plead his case, and anxiously wrung his hands I finally told him that I believed him when he said that he wasn't gay. "I guess maybe you should change your cellphone number and get a new non-work email address," was my sage advice.

That night was one of the only times in our relationship that he wasn't up for a game of hide the salami, and I acted like the concerned but understanding wife, laughing my ass off inside.

Six weeks after I knew that Jason had changed his cellphone number and email address I -- using my alias -- posted on any social media site that I could that Adam Levine's cellphone number was Jason's new number, and Harry Styles' email address was Jason's new one. Believe it or not (ha, ha) Jason came home from work two days after my posts with new complaints, and had to change his contact information once again.

All during this time I was getting money to invest in my secret account by selling Jason's most precious things on eBay. I modelled them with a mask on and as little clothes as I could get away with and not get kicked off the site. I used very sexy language in describing them; for example one pair of his leather pants which I displayed in a way that showed me barely covering my naked body with them I listed "Owned by a guy who satisfied three women at once and is certain to bring good juju to the lucky buyer."

I got $150 for the leather pants described above -- more than they cost when Jason bought them two years ago! Overall, selling selected ones of Jason's clothes, video games, tools, and jewelry I got almost $4,000 before I filed for divorce -- and drove him nuts in the process when he couldn't find one of the items that I sold.

I got really lucky in achieving my goal when Jason's company hosted a beach party one Saturday in July, about seven months into my plan. I searched the Internet for some activity that I could set in motion that might really do the job; one item I found made me laugh so hard that I knew that I had to do it.

Doing an Internet search I found a small airport about twenty five miles from the beach where the event would be held. "Fly-By Ads, Inc.," a commercial organization at the airport, advertised that it would fly advertising banners. I had a friend's advertising company make up a banner that said "Jason B. has a petite dick;" the use of the word "petite" was not an accident. Jason hates that word when applied to anything masculine.

Using the fake driver's license I made with Abigale's information and photo on it, and wearing a wig that looked like Abigale's hair in the fake driver's license and makeup mirroring hers, I went to "Fly By" and paid cash to arrange to have my banner flown over the beach for fifteen minutes on the Saturday of the beach party. As I expected the employee making the sale was only too happy to oblige and while she apparently had some sort of obligation to copy my fake license she never questioned if I was really Abigale. I told her that between 3 and 4 p. m. on the fateful Saturday I would call (from a burner phone) to tell them to start flying.

At 3:15 the fateful Saturday I was sure that Jason had just started a beach volleyball game and the beach was crowded so I made my call. Fifteen minutes later the plane flew by and circled the beach three times. I made sure that I was in the community building at the beach because I would not have been able to keep from laughing. Although the stunt cost me most of what I made from selling Jason's things up to that point it was well worth it. Some of Jason's co-workers who came into the community building while the plane was in the air were laughing their asses off; Cheryl wasn't one of them.

Once I was sure that the plane had vacated the area I went out to the beach. Jason was angrier than I had ever seen him. Using all of the self-control and thespian abilities I could muster I asked him what was wrong.

With veins on his neck standing out he growled "Some asshole arranged to fly a banner over the beach saying that I had a small cock."

One of his co-workers, trying to stifle a laugh, said "It said Jason B, not Jason Barnes and said petite dick."

"What other Jason Bs are here, you moron," Jason snapped, starting an argument that his co-worker soon backed off of seeing how incensed that Jason was.

I got Jason off to the side and calmed him down. As part of my ploy to really get to him I said "You should find out who paid for the banner to be flown. Do you want me to help find an airport that the plane might have taken off from -- which direction did it fly away in?"

"It exited that way," he snarled, pointing southeast.

I got out my real phone -- not the burner one -- and started doing a search. "Surprisingly" I found a small private airport primarily southeast from the beach that had a commercial organization there by the name of Fly By. I urged Jason to go there and demand to know who chartered the plane. Still red in the face he did exactly that.

I don't know exactly how Jason finagled a copy of the fake Abigale driver's license from Fly By, but he did. While I don't know all of the details of the controversy that followed I understand that it broke up Jason's relationship with Cheryl because Jason refused to believe Abilgale's disclaimer, and Cheryl fully supported her friend saying that she had no motive.

I inwardly laughed my ass off, and patted myself on the back.

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While I had a few other "tricks" up my sleeve in implementing my plan over the next few months none were as major as what I reported above. I achieved my goal by harming Jason's reputation for masculinity and virility; he was a less confident and angrier man than a year earlier by the time that I was ready to pull the plug on the cheater.

I filed for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences (while adultery made some difference in distribution of assets in our state I didn't want him to know that I knew about Cheryl). In person I told him that my filing was because over the last year he had become angrier and more distant. He tried to get me to reconsider, but after I moved out of our rented condo he realized that reconciliation wasn't going to happen.

We did argue a lot over money; I kept my secret brokerage account secret, and although my attorney and I suspected that he had another source of money we had no luck finding it.

I hadn't seen Jason in person for several months by the time that we agreed on the terms of the settlement. However, a day before we were to meet to sign it at my attorney's office my attorney got a hot lead on money that Jason might have inherited during the marriage but never disclosed. We had no real proof at that time and I didn't want to blow up the settlement for something that might not pan out. Therefore I had my devious little mind come up with a way to have Jason blow up the settlement to give my attorney's investigator more time to look.

I went to a costume shop and got a seven month's pregnant appliance and maternity dress that I wore to the settlement signing. Jason took one look at me and almost croaked. "You're pregnant?" he inquired after his face turned ashen.

Using very careful language that I had discussed with my attorney, and which he recorded (a sign on the conference room said that everything discussed therein was being recorded) I replied "Don't worry, what's under my dress at my belly isn't yours so you don't have to worry about child support," his face turned from ashen to beet red.

After a verbal kerfuffle Jason and his attorney stormed out snarling that they were going to refile on the basis of adultery.

That little stunt got us more time and within two weeks my attorney's investigator found more than $200,000 that we didn't know about. My stunt also embarrassed the hell out of Jason when our response to his re-filing based upon adultery was a doctor's affidavit that I was not pregnant and never had been, and my affidavit that I had never cheated on him. Ultimately I got another $100,000 and shook him up some more.

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Epilogue:

Now is the time when I explain how I immediately found a better mate, Jason became a hermit and lost all of his worldly possessions, and I feel great.

That's not real life, however.

While I do feel great about getting several "one-ups" on Jason to punish him for his cheating without revealing myself, three years after the divorce became final I haven't found Mr. Right. However, I have had a few rewarding (albeit not long term) relationships with several Mr. Right-Nows. I'm not in a hurry, and now I judge potential mates on character more than looks.

Jason somehow reconciled with Cheryl and they got married -- I didn't get invited to the wedding. Through a mutual friend I heard a rumor that Jason is cheating again but I have no interest in finding out.

I have decided, however, that if I do get married again I will let my husband-to-be (without going into details) know that I am fully capable of executing on my mantra "don't get mad, get ahead," and that cheating will not be tolerated.

One last thing -- I couldn't help myself. After Jason (an agnostic) and Cheryl (a fallen Catholic) got married, in Cheryl's name I sent expressions of interest to several different religious organizations asking them to pay them a visit at their new condo.

Someday I'll write a book about how to execute my mantra; I'm sure that it will be a best seller to cheated-on wives everywhere!