The 1947 film noir movie, "Lady in the Lake" used the concept of a (mostly) unseen first person protagonist to narrate the story. We've used a similar, though not quite identical, narrator for our tale below. Our narrator is not a nice person; and we've received complaints in the past for having very unlikable people in our stories. If this kind of thing bothers you, please hit your back-space button now.
It's a quick one with no sex. This is a work of fiction. All characters and incidents portrayed and names within are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental.
Oh Sh*t
Chapter One - The Watcher Watches Her
This is the second time I see the two of them in the food court. They aren't making any effort whatsoever to be discrete. She wears a wedding ring; but he doesn't. Everything about the way they look at each other, the little touches, and yea - the smoking hot kisses when they part, convinces me she's cheating on her husband.
I hate cheaters. Women who cheat on their husbands, who disrespect their vows, their family and their husbands; are nothing but whores and have no right to breathe the same air as faithful women like my mother. Mom knew what it meant to be a wife; she kept the house clean, my dad's shirts ironed, and had a wonderful meal on the table when we all sat down together every night for dinner.
Women today don't understand this type of commitment; they want it all - job, children, husband, girls' nights out. Who needs a wife that doesn't know how important the traditional roles are to a healthy relationship?
I tried to compromise; for those two years Betty Tyler and I spent together I thought she understood, even though Mom tried to warn me. But when I saw Betty dancing with Chad Roper, I knew. No woman could dance with another man like that - he had his hand on her waist and her hand was on his shoulder - and claim to be innocent.
Betty called me the next day. She wondered why I left her at the party without saying a word. When I told her why, what I had seen with my own two eyes, she made it worse by giving me the excuse she hadn't done anything wrong because they never kissed or even got that close to one another; it was just a slow dance.
See - that's what I'm talking about. That kind of behavior seems to be excusable in the minds of women today. It's why I'm thirty years old and still single. That, and the fact Mom needs me at home since Dad died five years ago.
Mom's good about it. She understands a man needs his privacy; which is why she allowed me to build my man cave down in the basement. It has everything I need; including the high-speed internet for online gaming and downloading videos. I even have a beer fridge.
So, that's why I decide to keep an eye on the cute blonde who meets her lover at the food court. They made it almost too easy. The following Tuesday, they're at it again; but this time I'm ready. I have my digital camera pointed at their table and use my remote to take pictures of them without anyone knowing what I'm doing.
I'm ready again when they meet on Thursday. I follow her this time after they split up; discover she works at the jewelry store on Clark. It will be easy to find out her name; she's behind the watch counter as I enter - perfect!
"May I see that watch?" I ask while pointing to one of them.
"The Tissot? Of course." She pulls the watch out of the display case to hand it to me. Her nails are painted a whorish red; but I must admit the color looks good on her. I pretend to be interested in the watch and after talking to her, she gives me her card. Janice Gartner; it even has her email address at the store.
Monday, I follow her lover; but hit a dead end. After leaving their table he walks four blocks to where they're putting up that new high-rise condo building on Howard Street. Sixty stories of retail shops, a hotel and condos. I don't have a pass to get inside the work site. It wouldn't matter anyway, I don't need his name, I have his photo. And, it's not his fault she's a cheating skank, it's on her to keep her vows.
I try to follow her to see if they meet after work; but she's always gone from the store by the time my shift is over in the mailroom. Twice, I take a few hours off without pay so I can leave early and follow her; just to see if she goes to a hotel. Both times, she heads straight to the subway; so, that's also a dead end. I decide I don't need any more than the photos of them at lunch. The kisses are damning enough. Any husband seeing those two lip-locking will know she's a cheater.
It's time to put the next phase of my plan in action. I use a dummy email account, using the public computers at the library. The email reads:
Dear Janice:
I know you're cheating on your husband. I'm attaching a sample of the photos I've taken to let you know I'm serious. I have many more that I'm certain you don't want your husband to see. I will call you at the store tomorrow at 2:00; it's in your best interest to take the call.
Don't even think about telling your lover or the police. All the photos I have will get posted to the internet and I'll tell your husband, family and friends where to view them in an email my friend will send if something happens to me.
Yours truly,
The Watcher
Of course, I don't know who her husband, family or friends are; but she doesn't know that. She also doesn't know I only have the photos from their lunch engagements and no photos of them walking in and out of hotel rooms or wherever they're meeting for their little fun fucks. She's probably wetting her pants right now; and out of fear, not sexual anticipation; wondering who knows about her affair and whether I'm going to end her marriage.
The next day, I call Ms. Gartner at 2:05; thinking if I make her sweat a bit, it will work in my favor. She takes the call and gets right to it. She sounds like she's trying to be brave.
"What do you want?"
I wasn't falling for that, I'm not stupid.
"I want you to meet me at the food court tomorrow morning. When do you get a break?"
She answers, "I can be there at 11:30."
"Come alone, no purse, no cell phone. I don't want you recording our conversation. We'll talk then."
I hang up. Good, make her sweat another day. Everybody thinks because I work in the mailroom that I'm stupid. Well, fuck them! I read a lot, especially stories of how wives cheat and how guys get caught trying to blackmail those whores. I'm not getting caught; this is my chance to score a nice piece of ass and a few bucks. The thing to remember - number one - don't be greedy. Nine out of ten of these things go south when the guy over-extends. Make the payout low enough to make it worth the cunt's cooperation. It's a cost-benefit thing.
See, I told you I'm not stupid; I read the Wall Street Journal every day before I deliver the paper to all those big shots upstairs.
I watch her come into the food court and look around. She stands there, looking a little scared. My god; what a beautiful woman. She must be five-six, long legs, breasts just the right size for her slim frame. I bet she looks outstanding naked. I can almost picture her naked in bed on her back, her legs spread open, waiting for my hard cock.
"I wonder if she shaves her cunt?" is what I'm thinking to myself. I don't plan on putting my mouth down there, who knows what I'd be eating, but I wouldn't mind using my fingers to feel a woman's bare pussy - that would be something.
After double-checking to make certain we're alone, I walk up to her. She looks at me with those big brown eyes and I can tell she recognizes me.
"You were looking at watches last week! Who are you and what do you want?"
"Never mind who I am. I'll tell you what I want as soon as you take that jacket off." As she removes the jacket, I grab it and pretend I'm a gentleman hanging it behind her chair; but really, I'm checking it for recorders or wires. When I'm satisfied that I'm safe, I sit down and quietly tell her my terms. I talk tough because I figure she's less likely to get brave if she thinks I've got her over a barrel.
"You'll meet me Saturday afternoon at the Hilton across the street. You'll bring two-thousand dollars and you'll dress sexy. Wear some nice lingerie under your clothes. You'll strip for me, I'm going to fuck you just like that construction asshole you've been seeing. Plan to be at the hotel at 3:00. I don't care what excuses you give your husband or boyfriend. Be there and plan to spend at least two hours in the room. Who knows? Maybe you'll end up liking it and will spend the night."
I say this last part because it's what a 'tough-guy' would say.
"When you leave Saturday, you'll have all the photos I have of you two."
She doesn't look as frightened as I expected her to be; maybe she's a good actress; that could be how she can cheat and fool her husband.
"How do I know you'll keep your word and I get the photos?"
