I Was Cucked By Who

I just have to write this down. It's so unbelievable to me that I am in a state of total disbelief. There is no way this could have happened. No one has ever bested me like this, and to think it is an old man with ED, is unacceptable in my book. I know I should be thinking about revenge, burning the bitch and the bastard, and moving on with my life. Unfortunately, my ego has taken such a big hit that all I want to do is find the bottom of this bottle of scotch and try to figure out how this happened.

The background is critical to this story. My name is Jackson Scanlon. I grew up in a mid-sized city in West Texas. My dad was a successful farmer and my mom stayed at home to raise me and my three siblings. It was a good life.

I am the oldest, now 42. I am healthy, still fit, and, I think, relatively good-looking. Standing a little over 6' 3" and weighing about 205 pounds, I inherited my dad's lean physique and strength. I get my share of advances and looks from the women I meet and with whom I work. I was a good student in high school and college, eventually earning an MBA in finance. There was no way that farming was in my future. My younger brothers were more adept at farm life than me. I yearned for the big city, excitement, and a professional career.

I excelled in athletics in high school and got a scholarship to play baseball in college. Making a good decision, I elected not to take the usual athlete's path, choosing instead to take the more challenging business administration route to a degree. This decision would benefit me in the future much more than the basic "rocks for jocks" geology degree path. I was also certain that I had no future in major league baseball, nor did I want to become a coach.

The summer between my junior and senior year, I was fortunate enough to land an internship with a large financial concern in Dallas. I liked the exciting and demanding nature of the work, and learned more that summer than I had from most of my business courses. I guess I impressed the bosses enough that during my senior year, they offered me a position upon my graduation. Eagerly, I accepted.

That fall, I met Patty. She was 4 years younger than me and still in her junior year at SMU. She was working toward a degree in microbiology, which I soon learned would require at least a Master's and perhaps even a Doctorate for her to have any prospects of a successful career.

Patty is a beautiful woman, standing 5' 9" and has a shape to die for. She knows she is good-looking, and she plays it to her advantage. When we started dating, I took some ribbing from my workmates about robbing the cradle, but I was sure it was a good move. We dated exclusively until she graduated. We got married a few weeks after her graduation, moved into a nice apartment about halfway between SMU and my offices. Life was good.

Patty was accepted to grad school at SMU and continued her education while I worked. Things were going well with me. I had a knack for seeing trends in the market and understanding how to act on them for of my clients. My success bred more success and by the time I was in my mid-thirties, I was offered a partnership in the firm.

Patty used those years to her advantage as well. She completed her Masters in Microbiology and was accepted to the University of Texas in Austin. We decided that it would be best if she maintained an apartment in Austin during her studies and come home a couple of weekends a month. It worked out well, with no problems, and she eventually received her PhD. Since there were several large research facilities in the Dallas area, she had no trouble finding a job.

Everything seemed to be going perfectly. We both had great jobs and were making a lot of money. Our decision after we married not to not have children distressed both our parents but fit our lifestyle perfectly. My brothers were holding up that end of the family business, having already produced 5 grandsons and a granddaughter. We were happy and content. Our sex life was more than adequate, in my eyes, and I assumed for Patty as well.

Two years ago, we decided that as comfortable as our apartment was, it was time for a move. Since most of our workmates were now living in the suburbs around Dallas, we decided to invest in a house so that we could entertain our friends and colleagues. Our weekends were filled with invitations to cookouts, pool parties, lake excursions, and dinner parties. We felt like we should be able to reciprocate those invitations.

Eventually, we bought a large house in an upscale suburban development a few miles north and east of Dallas. This meant a longer commute to work for both of us, but the house sat on 1.5 acres, had a beautiful pool, and had been landscaped professionally. I viewed it as a good investment, and Patty got the chance to furnish and decorate a home. She did an immaculate job, and we were soon firmly ensconced in the schedule of activities in the neighborhood and among our workmates.

After living in an urban apartment for so many years, having the space in a home and the larger outdoor space was a radical change. We had to deal with moving into an established neighborhood where many of the residents had lived for years. That was the case for our closest neighbor, James Franklin.

James, I was to learn, was a retired Dallas firefighter. He had spent 33 years in the department, retired as a Captain, and had lived in the house since it was built. He was a widower for almost 4 years and lived in the house alone. His kids were scattered across the US, and he saw them a few times a year when they came to visit. To me, it seemed like a lonely existence, in that massive house by himself, but he seemed content.

James, or Jimbo as he preferred to be called, turned out to be a godsend. I was totally out of my element trying to adjust to being a homeowner. His advice and help bailed me out of several almost calamitous events, and I found him to be a trusted source of help and information. He became a regular at our house, often coming over in the evening to sit around the pool or in the den.

It was earlier this year that I began to notice some strange changes in my marriage. There was nothing overt. I knew Patty had received a promotion and was now leading her research team. The small changes I noticed between us didn't alarm me, since I attributed them to the changes in her work situation. Her job didn't require any travel, her daily routine was so regular that I could set a clock by it, and she never participated in any of the activities that would normally raise a red flag. No girls night outs and no late work schedules. Looking back, I guess I was too accommodating.

I, early in my career, took up golf, which eventually led me to join a local country club. Patty didn't complain, since the club had a restaurant, bar, fitness center, spa, pool, and regular events to which we soon were part. We enjoyed the social aspects regularly and found another group of friends. Several of my co-workers were golf fanatics, and I rapidly joined their ranks.

It wasn't unusual for us to get together during the week after work to catch a quick 9 or 18 holes in the evenings. Saturday was also a scheduled game that usually saw us teeing off about 8 AM and getting home in the middle of the afternoon after lunch and drinks in the club. Golf was relaxing and fed into my competitive side. By now, I was a scratch golfer and routinely was invited to play in numerous charity tournaments in the Dallas area. It didn't hurt that often my firm would foot the bill for the entry fee and donation to the charity putting on the tournament. More than a few trophies adorned my office and home.

I encouraged Patty to make use of the facilities and opportunities at the country club. She did for a while, but soon only visited regularly to use the spa facilities. I didn't think much of it. Her excuse was she would much rather stay at home when she wasn't working. It seemed a reasonable excuse.

By now in this narrative, I am sure that most of you are jumping up and down screaming that I am an idiot for not realizing that something was seriously wrong. I have to disagree because there were no overt signs of problems. As I have said before, my marriage and my relationship with Patty passed the husband test anyway I looked at it. Unfortunately, I failed to consider something totally off the wall and unexpected.

Over the past two years, Jimbo and I had become more than passing acquaintances. We had developed a rather tight friendship. He started as more of a mentor to me, but that quickly morphed into almost a father -- son relationship. During that time, I learned a lot about Jimbo, and he learned a lot about me. Learning that he originally was a Dallas firefighter interested me. While the Dallas Fire Department pension system was sound, I knew that the pension benefits weren't generous enough for Jimbo to afford to live in this neighborhood. My curiosity was rewarded with Jimbo's life story. It was true that Jimbo had a successful career with the Dallas Fire Department and drew a nice pension benefit. However, I learned that, like many firefighters, he had other pursuits away from the department. '

During his tenure as an active firefighter, he had worked in the construction industry on a framing crew with other firefighters. He soon grew tired of the heavy physical labor and began looking for some other opportunity. Discovering he had a talent for computers and, after some remedial classes at one of the local junior colleges, he began tinkering in the programming business.

It was early enough in the techno boom that he found a niche and expanded it into a rather successful operation, writing management software for the medical equipment industry. He saw the writing on the wall and sold his share of the company to his partners and looked for something else to do. His interest in computers served him well, and he began to invest in the dot com markets. A small speculative stock caught his interest and he dropped a relatively hefty sum of money into a little known online book retailer called Amazon.

According to Jimbo, he didn't buy in the first IPO. He waited almost a year and bought his first Amazon stock in 1998 at a little less than 4 dollars a share. According to what I know about Amazon, that stock is now worth about $185 a share. Jimbo was quick to tell me that his subsequent forays into the stock market weren't as successful. He did admit that over the years his dabbling has netted a nice return, and his dividends now more than equal his pension benefits.

There were other interesting tidbits as well. Late in his career, he returned to school and added an MBA in human resource management to his resume'. His retirement in 2003 left him with more time on his hands. One of his professors at SMU recognized his acumen and suggested that Jimbo might be a suitable candidate to teach in the SMU business school as an adjunct lecturer.

That led Jimbo to get into the classroom and then to some consulting work with startup businesses. He evidently was good at it. With all of his other ventures, Jimbo's wealth grew, which eventually afforded him the opportunity to buy the house in which he now lives. In 2006, Jimbo suffered a heart attack and underwent a double by-pass. With the medications, the advent of Type II diabetes, and his heart disease, he continued to suffer medical issues, most notably a severe case of erectile dysfunction.

Then in 2008, his wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Jimbo was, of course, devastated. Her death 4 months later left him distraught and lonely. I asked how he had overcome the depression, and he just smiled.

"I found some other ways to deal with my grief and my loneliness. I guess you could say I made some substitutions."

He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push the question. I knew he left his house occasionally and when I saw him return, he usually had groceries. I assumed that going to the market was one of his outlets. Since I wasn't home much during the day on weekdays, I really couldn't speak much about his daytime schedule.

About two months ago, a severe thunderstorm blew up over the golf club. Anyone with any sense heads indoors during one of these intense storms. We decided to end our game where we were. Several of the others decided to hit the 19th Hole Club for drinks, but I saw it as a chance to head home to spend some extra time with Patty.

I arrived and pulled my Ford F150 truck into the garage and closed the overhead door. I came into the kitchen and didn't hear anything in the house. Figuring Patty was in the pool, I went out the sliding glass doors. Sure enough, I found her and Jimbo sitting on a pair of the chaise lounge chairs. Both of them looked surprised when I came onto the pool deck.

"Jackson. What are you doing home?"

"We got thundered off the course and I decided to come home. What have you two been up to this morning?"

I thought it was an innocent question. I saw Patty drop her eyes and Jimbo stared out the backyard, apparently staring at something in the distance.

"Nothing. We have just been sitting here enjoying the pool and this gorgeous day."

"Didn't it rain here?"

"No. Nothing here."

Now, it isn't unusual for small thunderstorms to be localized. But the club is only about 4 miles from my house and I knew, by looking at the storm track on my cell phone, that the storm had passed over our neighborhood. I guess I had a puzzled look on my face. Jimbo took the opportunity to stand.

"I need to get home and take care of a few things. Maybe I will see both of you later this evening."

I nodded, but Patty stood and went around the chaise lounge to give Jimbo a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Maybe so. We have some steaks, why don't you come over for dinner."

"If that's an invitation, I will bring the wine."

Patty smiled broadly and laid her hand on his forearm. I had never seen her touch another man so casually.

Jimbo left by the side gate close to his house. I turned to Patty.

"What would you like to do this afternoon since I am home?"

I knew what I had in mind as I stepped closer to her and slid an arm around her waist. My hand cupped her behind and gave it a squeeze. She giggled but slide from my grasp as she headed into the kitchen, speaking to me over her shoulder.

"Not now, you horney old goat. If we are having dinner with Jimbo tonight, I need to go to the market."

"I'll go with you."

"No you won't. You smell like that horney old goat after golf. You take a shower and I will see you in a while."

I agreed, and as I was headed up the stairs, I heard Patty leave through the front door. I undressed, dropped my golf outfit into the hamper and stepped into the bathroom. Reaching into the shower, I set it for a cool but not cold temperature. When I put my hand on the shower door, I rested it on a bath towel that was wet. That was unusual, since we usually put the wet towels in the hamper to be laundered. I picked up the towel, and it was indeed quite damp.

I am normally a paranoid or suspicious type. My usual practice is to take everyone at face value and try to work on the principle that everyone I meet is honest, straightforward, and trustworthy. MY feelings toward my wife were even more so. But finding a wet towel in the middle of the morning was out of the ordinary. I had never known Patty to take a shower mid-morning.

I finished my shower and went back to my closet and tossed both wet towels toward the hamper and missed. My sport was baseball, not basketball. I turned back, leaned over to pick up the towels, and caught a scent that was familiar to my nose. I held the towels in one hand while I dug through the hamper with the other. It didn't take but a few seconds to come out with a pair of Patty's underwear. It was the pair she had put on while I lay in bed that morning.

I held the panties close to my nose and I could smell Patty's scent. The gusset was slightly damp. I stood and pondered what I discovered. Occam's Razor compelled me to take the simple answer to the problem rather than devising a more devious and complicated answer. Common sense told me that Patty, for some reason, had masturbated herself that morning and then changed clothes and showered. Given my beliefs, it was the solution that best fit the situation and offered the simplest set of circumstances. I dropped the panties back into the hamper and added the damp towels before heading downstairs to find a cold beer.

Despite my logical attempt to answer the mystery, my mind refused to let the problem rest. As I sat in the den with some unwatched sports event on the TV, I kept tossing the details as I knew them. I didn't want to believe that Patty was having an affair. There was little evidence of that. Even the moist panties were free, as far as I could tell, of any ejaculate. The only person I knew who could have had an opportunity was our neighbor, Jimbo. That seemed a remote possibility, given his age, his physical condition, and the fact that he had such severe ED that he had not had sex since well before his wife died. Of course, that was all by his admission and I had no real proof.

I was still sitting in the den when Patty came in from the grocery. She was as bubbly and bright as usual. When she came into the den to check on my, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her down into my lap. She laughed and tried to struggle away, but I held her firmly.

"What has gotten into you?"

"Well, I'm fresh, showered, and still a horney old goat. Let's go upstairs and see if we can do something about the situation."

She slapped me playfully on the chest and managed to wiggle out of my grasp.

"I have things to do in the kitchen. Why don't you go clean the pool and get the grill ready for tonight."

She strode toward the kitchen, and I took the opportunity to watch her pretty ass wiggle its way out of my sight. Then I frowned. That was the second time, today, she had rebuffed my amorous advances. That had to be a first in our marriage. And the suggestion I clean the pool and the grill were suspicious. We have an automatic pool vacuum that works all the time. At the worst, it takes me about 5 minutes to clean the grill and get it ready to cook. It was only a little after 10 AM.

I took my beer and wandered out to the pool deck. Looking down into the crystal water, I saw the robotic pool vacuum churning along. There wasn't a leaf or a speck of dust on the bottom of the pool. Nagging little thoughts were bouncing around in my cranium, but I couldn't fit them together well enough to have an informed decision about what might be happening.

I was trying my best to work out a scenario where my wife was cheating on me. Things just didn't add up. I knew her schedule at work. She didn't take lunch hours, she was always home at the appropriate time, she hadn't changed her wardrobe. I checked her credit card statements and our only checking account. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I considered doing the spy tech thing, but I have enough trouble making my cellphone work, much less installing tracking software or GPS apps. I could get a PI. Money wasn't a problem, but what was I going to tell them. I think my wife is cheating, but I don't know how? Besides, something inside of me believed that spying on her was, of itself, a form of cheating.

Several weeks later, I was at the club in the middle of a golf game. I had been talking to my cart partner, Roger Filbin, about my suspicions. Roger is a partner in my firm as well, and we had started with the company at about the same time. We had a lot of history together, and he had gone through a nasty and expensive divorce several years ago.

"Jackson, from what you have told me, I am not sure if I could make an argument that your wife is cheating. Maybe it is just age. She is still too young for menopause. Maybe there is another physical reason. Have you talked to her about going to your doctor and having a checkup?"