There are several common signs of cheating that do not require the services of a Private Investigator, HD cameras, or voice activated recorders to determine or confirm. If you are a perceptive female your sixth sense and a little leg work are all that are necessary to spot and expose a cheating husband.
It's lucky for me, Jeanette, that you don't usually have to spend big bucks to track down a cheater because I'm just a poor working girl, who at the start of this story made $11.50 an hour performing tasks significantly below my intelligence level.
Trent and I have been married for five years, and dated two years before that. I know him well. He was not the ideal husband, I was not the model wife, and we didn't have the perfect marriage; but we did better than most. Our most frequent real arguments – just like for 27% of married American couples according to a 2012 survey conducted by the American Institute of CPAs – were about money, and we talked to each other about money (even if we didn't argue) at least once a week, just like 71% of married American couples do. I didn't like the fact that he made $19.75 an hour yet we saved almost nothing, and he didn't like it that I wouldn't find a job paying me more than $11.50. We lived more modestly than either of us would have liked.
Actually, I could have gotten a job with the same company that would have paid me as much per hour as Trent was making, and my boss had encouraged me to take it. My boss, William Masterson, is in charge of everything except financial matters at my employer. He is normally a crusty old codger, but for some reason has really taken a shine to me. He told me on several occasions that I remind him of his granddaughter, who he infrequently gets to see; yet he can smile at my looks and fantasize about me because I'm not really his granddaughter. He has always been encouraging to me and I think that normally my job would have paid less than $10 an hour but I got a "friendly" bonus. I treat him very nicely, including bringing him homemade cookies whenever I bake them, and I'm one of only several employees who call him "Will" instead of "Mr. Masterson."
There were two problems with taking the higher paying job that Will had offered me on several occasions, however.
One problem was that the guys who worked in that department hit on me all of the time even though where I worked was far away from their offices, and I couldn't imagine what it would be like there every day. You see I have what I have often been told is a world class ass and pretty face, and it wasn't conducive to staying true to Trent to constantly be hit upon especially since a number of the guys in that department are single and good looking.
The second problem was that I would have to work fifty hours a week at a more challenging and stressful job. While the money would be great – especially since everything over forty hours was time-and-a-half – that would leave less time for Trent and me.
To get back to my problem – unexplained expenditures are one of the signs of infidelity. Apparently Trent thought that I was too stupid to figure out where he kept the bills for the one low credit limit credit card that we had, and he was too stupid to buy everything he didn't want me to find out about with cash. The unexplained purchases were evident from the last two credit card bills once I suspected him.
More significant in tipping off Trent's infidelity were his changes in behavior. Leaving me love notes when he never had before; giving me flowers (not purchased, obviously stolen from a neighbor's garden); on a regular schedule working manual labor projects in the next town over yet coming home clean and fresh; and introducing changes into the bedroom while at the same time that his frequency of seeking my pussy had decreased.
To be honest with you, I was pleased that instead of being solely a "missionary man" who avoided oral genital contact, in the last two and a half months before I suspected him enough to investigate he had vigorously fucked me doggy, fingered my ass, and eaten me to several orgasms. He was also more appreciative when I sucked his cock, and I thrilled him by cleaning it off with my mouth when he gave me an especially nice doggy style fuck while simultaneously fingering my asshole. However, I didn't like getting fucked only twice a week instead of the four times that I was used to.
I asked my boss, Will, for an advance on a project that no one else was interested in doing so that I was able to have a little money – just $200 – to finance my own stealth investigation. He just gave me the money, "no need for a loan as long as you do that project," was his cheery response.
I took the day off on one of Trent's "out-of-town" sojourns and borrowed a friend's car since we only had Trent's pickup and he needed it for work; I had a short bus ride to work.
I parked outside of the warehouse where Trent works and when he left at lunchtime, obviously having spiffed himself up in the locker room, I followed him. It wasn't hard because there are few traffic impediments in our small city, and he wouldn't have recognized my borrowed car even if he was perceptive enough to sense that he was being followed – he wasn't.
The asshole picked up his honey in front of a townhouse in a "declining" area of town. I recognized her immediately. Lizzy Burns, a big-titted bleached-blond slut a year younger than I am who I went to High School with and who I never got along with. Even though she didn't live in a trailer to me – and virtually everyone else in school – she was "trailer trash."
Trent and Lizzy zealously swapped spit in Trent's pickup and then drove to a local bar that also served food. I recognized the name – Samantha's Bar & Grill – from the last credit card statement. The jerk was dimwitted enough to pay for their lunch with our credit card.
After about an hour the assholes came out of the bar arm-in-arm, played a little more kissy face, and then drove to the townhouse where Trent picked her up. They walked together from the truck up the wooden flight of stairs to her townhouse, with Trent occasionally grabbing one of her big tits along the way. I took a number of photos with an inexpensive, but decent resolution, camera that I had gotten as a graduation present from High School six years ago. When they disappeared into the townhouse I had seen enough; I noted the time and went back home.
I had two things to figure out. One, did I want to stay married to the asshole? Two, how could I get revenge on the piece of trailer trash? I wasn't going to go off half-cocked, and since I didn't have the money to mount a really sophisticated campaign, or strike out on my own, I had to be clever and patient enough to come up with a workable plan.
They say that the brain is the most important sex organ. I believe it since once Trent's dalliance was confirmed I lost interest in sex with him, and when we had it I didn't receive the pleasure from it that I used to. I faked orgasms for the first time in my life since I didn't want him to get suspicious – I wasn't going to make the mistake of changing my behavior like he had.
After three more weeks I had determined several things. I had no interest in staying married to Trent; I didn't want our friends or families to see me as the "bad guy" in the breakup; I wanted the bitch to pay even more than ever; and I had to get myself in a better economic position.
Without telling Trent, I accepted the more stress, higher pay, position at work. Since it was a position that had not been filled for more than a year, except by temps who didn't work out, my boss Will was thrilled that I agreed to take it. He was so thrilled that he gave me a couple of future concessions, important to me to implement my plan.
It was difficult to live with Trent while saving enough money to start life on my own, and bide my time until the lease that Trent and I had jointly signed on our apartment was up. It took three months, but it was finally time to execute my escape and revenge strategy.
During those three months I had found out that I was really good at my new job, my boss was extremely pleased not only with my work but by the fact that the morale had improved in the department I worked in and productivity had increased twenty percent, and since I wasn't worried about staying true to Trent over the long term getting hit on by, and flirting with (which, along with my short skirts was the main reason that morale had improved) the guys in the new department not only didn't bother me but made me feel good.
Making my revenge plan doable was the fact that except for the size of her tits – probably a D or DD while mine are a B – Lizzy and I are almost the same size. She is about an inch, maybe two, taller than I am but our shoulders, waists, and bone structure are roughly the same. Our faces aren't close, and I'm a brunette, but a mask and bleached blond wig are not difficult to come by. She also has a very distinctive dragon tattoo on her right forearm which was pretty clear from one of the photos that I had taken of the "happy couple."
It only cost me about $280 bucks to buy a blond wig, mask, specially made temporary dragon tattoo, fake gun, Salvation Army slacks and short sleeve top that looked like Lizzy's the day that I photographed hear, a DD bra and falsies, and a pair of Salvation Army shoes with lifts. All were purchased with cash. It cost me another $100 to rent a motorcycle – not from a rental store but from a shady acquaintance – for a day.
