Many thanks to Dennis for the editing of this story
*
I'm Michael "Mic" Wallmann, a married man in my mid forties. My pretty wife Marianne is two years younger. Our daughter Julia is sixteen and our son Melvin is fourteen years old. When this story begins we still are a typical middle class Scandinavian suburban family with fair jobs and fair house. Without any real problems for the time being when the shit hit the fan.
It was a chilly Thursday in November. I had got the flu and decided to remain in bed for the day. But my wife Marianne, who began her work a half hour later than I, was okay and went to the bathroom for a shower. What surprised me was that she took her clothes with her for dressing in the bathroom. My surprise increased when I heard her lock the door. Now I was curious and went to the kitchen drawer for the safety tool for opening the door from the outside when children locked the door from inside and couldn't open it.
I waited a couple of minutes after hearing that she had turned off the shower before opening the door. The sight in the bathroom was marvelous. Marianne dressed in obviously new very sexy laced black underwear and stay up stockings I never seen before, why I asked her, "Why that new secret sexy outfit? Why hiding in here when dressing? Have you got a boyfriend?"
She froze for a split second in her movement and got a worried expression in her face before the reply, "Don't be silly, you ought to know that after the job today Lena and I are going to the mall for our monthly shopping and it may take a couple of hours."
I was feeling like a shit of the flu why I gave her harsh reply, "That secret sexy outfit for buying clothes? Doesn't it fit better on a woman who is trading something without clothes?"
Now she got furious and shouted, "Do you accuse me to be a whore?"
"I didn't accuse you for anything, only said that today you for some still unknown reason are dressed just as a whore."
She continued shouting, "How in the hell do you know how whores are dressed?"
"Ronny Skoog bragged about his experiences at the pub."
The door slammed hard when she left the house and I understood that my marriage was rather down than up. Ronny Skoog was her ex-boyfriend and as long as he did very well as Union boss, Marianne sometimes in angry temper had shouted that she regretted dumping him for me after he cheated her. But after Ronny had been fired and divorced for using his Union credit card at several expensive continental whorehouses during his trips to international Union meetings any comments about Ronny was any longer appreciated by her.
However, I had seen the strange expression on her face when she froze for a split second and knew for sure that my question had hit her hard. I decided to find out some further information and began my investigation at our home office where Marianne paid and kept all our bills in good order in ring binders.
It took me some time to find out several clues what said the something was wrong.
Nothing unexpected in our shared Visa account. While investigating the bills from her private account there were some strange details. Though Marianne and Lena usually went shopping for clothes once a month, always at a Thursday around the middle of a month, none of her purchases was made those Thursdays. They were always done a day or several days before that shopping Thursday.
Shit hit the fan when I found she had bought gas at the Q8 gas station about 25 kilometers from our town during one of her shopping days. Why in the hell could shopping in the mall bring her there far away from town? There was not even a small grocery shop or the café for truck drivers at the gas station. The only remaining possibility was that she had visited one of the small cabins the gas station rented out to tourists, salesmen and cheaters because of a much lower price than for a hotel room in town.
I was convinced about Marianne's cheating once a month during the pretended shopping but had no real evidence. A gas bill wasn't evidence enough for a divorce, at least not for the time being. In my opinion it would be better wait to after Christmas and New Year holidays and use the remaining time to find out with whom she did it.
However, I could even give her some fun during the "shopping" today. The alcohol store at the mall closed at 6 o'clock, and I rang Marianne's cell phone twenty minutes past five. She took the call after several rings and asked with a worried voice, "Something wrong?"
"Yes it is. You are at the mall aren't you?"
"Of course I'm, why do you ask me that?"
"Because I need a favor from the mall. What shop are you at now?"
She sounded a bit less worried when she replied" H&M, why do you ask?"
"Because I need a bottle of brandy for my flu. The alcohol store is very close to H&M, could you please go in there and buy a bottle for me before they are closing at six?" I hung up the phone.
That request caused a real problem for Marianne. If she was at a Q8 cabin having sex with her lover boy, she could maybe be able to fix the brandy by making a quick drive to the nearest alcohol shop and lose more than one hour of her prime time with the lover or she could skip the brandy and take the expected quarrel with me.
She took the quarrel. Obviously she preferred remaining together with her lover, wherever they were and whatever they were doing instead of rushing away for buying my brandy. Back home without my brandy she only said, "Sorry, but it took so much time at H&M that the alcohol store was closed when I got there."
"Bullshit, what did you buy at H&M that took all that time? May I see the receipt?"
Now she knew that she was trapped with a lie and replied shouting, "I paid my clothes with my own money. Why in the hell should I show you any receipt if I had any left."
"Because the receipt shows the time when you bought your damn clothes and you know very well that you need the receipt for getting faulty items replaced. You damn lying bitch simply didn't want to do me that small favor after my argument this morning."
She saw my last statement as a chance to get out of the problem that was why she said, "Stupid of you to expect any favors from me after accusing me to be a whore when I dressed at the morning."
I gave her a bright smile and asked, "Did the lover agree that you were sexy as hell in that new black laced outfit? If you really were whoring with some damn gigolo, please don't ever forget that in this marriage cheating is equal to divorce."
That comment resulted in the worst cursing in my life. I can't deny that I was impressed of what a good actress Marianne really was when she pretended to be offended. Even her ability of swearing made a deep impression on me.
A rather chilly atmosphere existed in our house that evening.
Though it was obvious that Marianne did something behind my back, it still remained for me to find out what she did, where she did it and with whom she did it?
The most important source of information could be her cell phone. We had identical phones and used to charge them in the kitchen. I went up during the night and I found her phone in the charger and switched phones.
The next morning Marianne hurried away to her job without any arguing and I remained in bed. As soon as she was away, I began to investigate her phone. Only one short text message, "A picture coming soon. Waiting for your comments. "
It was from a sender whose number I didn't recognize. The phone book contained only her best friends.
My search online about the phone number didn't give me anything. Obviously it was a prepaid phone. However, then I got my lucky surprise when there came a ping from the phone.
It was a picture, obviously taken yesterday showing Marianne in her black sexy underwear and from the same sender as the previous message. The enclosed text said only four words, "Darling you are GREAT!"
Though there was no sender name enclosed, now I knew it for sure. It was the high artistic and technical quality of the picture that solved my question. I knew only one guy who was able to take pictures of such professional quality. That creep could only be Oliver Ericsson, the husband to Rebecca Ericsson, one of Marianne's very best childhood friends. He was well known for his ability with a camera and had once in the time when been heavy boozed at a pub bragged with an almost equal picture of a female co-worker. I had never liked him very much because his bragging about everything; he thought had done better than anybody else.
I was sure that he didn't like me either and it was easy to imagine how much he had been laughing behind my back every time he had fucked Marianne, much prettier than his own wife. One question remained, how could Marianne let her be seduced by that bragging creep?
