It all began when my wife Shelly went back to school. She had grown tired of being a stay-at-home mom, and when our daughter, Alicia, began high school, Shelly figured that it was time for her to finish her degree and join the workforce. She had never been much of a student in the first place (which is why she dropped out of college during her freshman year), so it was somewhat surprising to learn that this is what she wanted to do with all her newfound free time.
She began taking classes at a university just down the road from our home. She was excited just to be out of the house for a change, and she seemed excited and enthusiastic about starting the "next chapter of her life," as she called it.
About a month or two into her first semester, she became more active with campus activities. She joined the campus gym, attended study groups in the evenings, and developed an interest in activism. It seemed odd that a forty-year-old woman would have any interest in hanging out with a bunch of twenty-year-olds, but she seemed happier than ever, as if she were recapturing her youth.
Among the many classes that my tens of thousands of dollars in tuition covered was a class on "Women's Studies." I would come home from a hard day's work and be subjected to long monologues at the dinner table about female oppression, the gender wage gap, abortion rights, and campus rape culture. If I ever dared to contradict her in any way, she would interrupt me and tell me that I was "mansplaining." Which, apparently, is one of the many forms of female oppression. I learned that my life was far easier if I just kept my mouth shut.
Unfortunately, her newfound wisdom on all social justice issues began to rub off on Alicia. The two of them would often gang up on me over the dinner table and explain how men like me were the root of all problems in the world. If only women ruled the world, there would be nothing but peace and prosperity for all, according to them.
As time went by, and Shelly began her second semester, she became very active with the "hashtag-resist" movement. She began spending her weekends organizing marches and protests, knitting pink "pussy" hats, and creating hand-written signs to pass out to the other protesters. I used her time away from the house to improve my golf game, work on my homemade brewery, and simply enjoy the peace and quiet.
At the end of her second semester, Shelly announced that she had won some sort of academic award. I couldn't figure out how she could have won any award after only a year of schooling, but I supposed that times had changed since my college days. We got all dressed up and headed over to the school. When we got there, I noticed that it seemed as though half the student body were receiving the same award. We had to sit in the rear of their multimillion-dollar auditorium (paid through the generous contributions of people like myself) due to a lack of open seats.
There were a few boring speeches, followed by the awards ceremony, which was followed by a reception with appetizers and cocktails. I had stopped at a Mexican fast food place for lunch earlier that day, and something I ate wasn't agreeing with me. While Shelly chatted with her new "classmates," I ducked into a men's room stall. I was sitting there doing my business when I heard a couple of kids noisily enter the room and stand at the urinals next to me.
"Bro, did you see that MILF in the red dress?" one of them said.
"See her?" the other one said. "Dude, I've hit that so many times I've lost count!"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously, bro. She's a fucking maniac. She sucks dick like her life depends on it, and she'll spread her legs for just about anyone. You want a piece of that? All you gotta do is ask!"
"Damn, bro!"
"Yeah, man. As a matter of fact, check out the parking lot behind the library on Monday. Around six o'clock. You'll see what I mean."
I couldn't wrap my brain around what I was hearing. Shelly wore a red dress that night. Aside from the professors and admins, she was the only woman in that room old enough to be called a "MILF." But that kid couldn't have possibly been referring to my wife. Granted, she had always had a healthy sex drive. I knew she had been with a lot of guys before we met - although I didn't want to know exactly how many. She would never cheat on me, though. She just wasn't like that.
When I finished my business and returned to the reception, I found Shelly immediately, surrounded by a group of young men who seemed all-too-eager to be in her company. She smiled from ear-to-ear and her flirtatious body language did nothing to lower my radar. I scanned the room and didn't see any other woman in a red dress who fit the description of "MILF." I grabbed her gently by the arm and told her I wasn't feeling well, and insisted that we return home.
My head was spinning all night. If I had confronted her about what I had heard, she would just deny it, become defensive, and accuse me of "slut-shaming" her or some other new-wave feminist bullshit. Although she was all hot-and-horny when we got home, I declined her advances, pretending that I was too sick to fuck. I didn't want to expose myself any further to whatever viral cesspool may reside between her legs if anything that kid said were true. I decided to ride it out until Monday, when I could investigate the matter myself.
I left work early that day, drove to the campus, and waited in the parking lot with a nice ham sandwich and a cold soda. Shelly told me she had study group that night, and I believed her. I just needed to confirm for myself that what that college kid said in the men's room was bullshit - or that maybe he wasn't referring to my "MILF." When six o'clock passed, and I still hadn't seen any suspicious activity, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I saw our minivan come into view and park at the furthest corner of the lot. My heart sank when Shelly didn't get out of the van and walk toward the library as I hoped she would. Instead, she appeared to move from the front seat to the back.
In an instant, the van was surrounded by young men who seemingly appeared from nowhere. They gathered around outside of the van, shoving each other in the way that young men tend to do, until one of them was bold enough to open the sliding door and disappear inside. I watched in disgust as one kid after another entered the van, exchanging high-fives as they passed each other.
I resisted the urge to vomit. It would have been a waste of a good ham sandwich. Instead, I got out of the car and marched across the parking lot toward the group of kids, which had dwindled to just three. As I approached the van, I could see it rocking, and I could hear the moaning and groaning from inside. One of the kids noticed me approaching and elbowed his friends. All three of them stood there, looking terrified.
"What's going on here?" I asked as casually as I could muster.
"N-not much," one of the kids stammered. "Just hanging out."
"Yeah?" I said. "What's going on in the van?"
"You with the campus police?" another one asked. "School admin?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Just a curious person who happens to own this van."
Their eyes widened and their mouths gaped stupidly. They looked at each other for a brief moment. One of them bolted away, and the others followed swiftly behind. I stood at the door of the van, took a deep breath, and jiggled the handle. The automatic sliding door opened, and what I saw I could hardly believe.
There was my wife on all fours, facing the rear window of our minivan with her arms folded over the backrest and her knees on the rear bench seat. Behind her, with his back to me, was a young man with his pants bundled around his ankles, plowing into my loving bride as if he were trying to dislodge a golf ball from her throat the hard way.
"Hey, bro!" the kid shouted without bothering to look over his shoulder. "I'm not finished yet! Wait your turn!"
