She Said I Was The One

Note: I have been a fan of the site for a few years. For the most part, I'm content to read. Though they are not typically "spank" material, I have found that I have most enjoyed the "unhappy" Loving Wives stories. I'm not sure why they appeal to me, but whatever. I certainly don't pretend to be a writer and I'm sure there are numerous mistakes in this one. I wasn't patient enough to find and editor, so I hope the result doesn't make it completely unbearable. I wanted to have a story end the way I kept hoping they would and wanted to have the husband react in the manner I have described in this story. That is my sole reason for writing it. If you don't enjoy it, but like this "genre", I would encourage you to read the fine work of K.K., Ohio, DG Hear, Dr_Know, Just Plain Bob, Harddaysknight, Blue88, and thecelt. No doubt there are others that write similar kinds of stories and I'm sure I'm leaving some out that I have enjoyed.

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My name is Mark Fisher. Denise and I have been married 12 years. They have been good years, for the most part. Obviously, as in any marriage, every minute of every day wasn't ideal, but then who could make that claim? Denise and I both have our quirks and have learned to either be amused by one another quirk, or at least ignore them.

If you could put a picture in the dictionary beside the word average, it would be me. I'm a little on the short side at 5'6 ½" (hey...I need that ½) and weigh in at about 170 pounds. I'm not looking for opportunities to show myself off in a swim suit, but neither have I relegated myself to wearing only black clothing and vertical stripes. I have dark hair and blue eyes and have learned that facial hair isn't my look. Nor do I have any tattoos, piercings, etc. Basically, I'm Beaver Cleaver all grown up and in the 21st century. I guess you could say I'm a little on the quiet side. I've always wanted to be that "life of the party" type, but I'm just not that guy. I have to work really hard at parties to find things to say and don't know what to do with my hands.

Denise, on the other hand, is a knockout. She stands at a statuesque 5'10" and weighs in the 140s, though I'm never sure quite exactly where in the 140s. Her breasts are essentially the perfect size and shape for her figure at 36C. She has dark blond hair and green eyes. Picture Bridget Sampras (formerly Wilson) from the Adam Sandler movie, Happy Gilmore. Her best feature by a mile, though, is her legs. Now, I'm a "leg man", but I have to think any guy that sees Denise in a skirt and heels will have a very tough time getting that picture out of his head. They are long, but more importantly, perfectly shaped and proportioned. Now here's the really great part. She can walk in heels. Most will know what I'm talking about when I say that. There are ladies who manage to stay upright when wearing heels. Then there are ladies who can walk in heels in a manner that allows them to avoid calling negative attention to themselves. Finally, there are ladies that can walk in heels. Not only can they walk gracefully, but these ladies quite simply seem to have an aura about them that makes them seem out of reach of mortal man.

The manner in which we met was nothing short of every guy's dream meeting....unless they happen to be The Bachelor. I was on my way home from Atlanta to Chicago where I had been on business for a couple of days. I work for Computech and have a very exciting job. I sit I a cubicle and process TPC reports. My job seldom requires travel, so I kind of enjoyed it when I did unlike many business travelers. On rare occasion, a report wouldn't coincide with the monthly projections the branch sent to the bosses and I'd have to go to the branch to help with the reconciliation.

Guys, do you know how when you get on a plane, you start to look for the most attractive flight attendant....or nearby passenger in a pinch....just so you can mentally check the block of having identified her? Well, I did, and that was Denise. She came toward me and I immediately had decided she was now among the 25 or so ladies on my top-ten-hottest-women-in-real-life list (not to be confused with the top-ten-hottest-celebrity-women list). Well, the flight got under way and after a few minutes, I pulled a book out and started reading, and eventually got engrossed in my book. After 45 minutes or so, I was startled by a voice originating from well within the confines of my personal space, but couldn't turn toward it because I'd have bumped into my new friend. Now, in most cases, when someone you don't know is that close to you, it's uncomfortable at best. In this case, however, it was a female voice.

"I know this is probably very inappropriate, but I just have to tell you that you're the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in my life."

To say I was stunned would, of course, but a huge understatement. It was even more stunning, however, because it was none other than Denise, who had said it. Unfortunately, she immediately continued heading up the aisle after making such a mind blowing declaration. Frankly, I was both excited AND incredulous. She was gone. Had I even heard her correctly? How was it possible such a traffic-stopping beauty would even notice a guy like me? I asked the lady travelling next to me if she had heard that and she responded in the negative.

What do I do now? Anything? I decided to be Mr. Smooth. Being that I have exactly zero game, I wasn't about to screw this up...assuming "this" was even an opportunity TO screw up. So...I did what any real man would do. I pulled a business card out and held it so that there was no doubt Denise could see it when she walked by and know it was an invitation to take it, but if she didn't take it, I would still be spared my dignity. I know. You're impressed, aren't you? I'll be giving a clinic after the story.

Well, Denise DID, in fact snatch the business card on her way by (you already knew that's what was going to happen, didn't you?), and unbelievably, called me a few days later. It turns out, for those that don't know it, that flight attendants are not really constrained by geography in their dating lives. Denise lived in Denver, with a few other flight attendants in a "crash pad", and I lived in Chicago, but it was easy enough for her to come on days off to spend time with me...which she did. For the life of me, I can't figure out and still can't what she apparently saw in me, but she swept me off my feet. On our second date, as I was returning her to her hotel room, she asked me to give her a few minutes, then come up for a while longer before going back to my place. Well, when I got to her room, she answered the door wearing an absolutely GORGEOUS white lacy teddy and white thigh highs with very tasteful heels.

Needless to say, one thing led to another, and I was shortly engaged in what was, up to that point, the best sex of my life. I won't say we did everything there was to do, but we hit most of the standard stuff. The thing that truly rocked my world is the ease with which she orgasmed and how vocal she was when she did. I was very convinced that they have to have heard her several rooms away. We spent a wonderful evening together and I finally left very late to head back home. She left the next morning, but the next day, I had a dozen red roses delivered to me at work along with a quite steamy note. It happened, gentlemen. Believe it.

You'd think that I would have moved mountains to make sure Denise stayed with me and that our relationship progressed wouldn't you? Not me, though. Oh, no. I was VERY cautious.

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You see, I had been married once before. I'm not proud to say I cheated on my ex wife, Amanda, which, eventually had a lot to do with our marriage ending. In spite of that, however, virtually everyone that knew us both was amazed that I even tried to stay in the marriage at all. They definitely didn't feel I was the bad guy for having cheated. Don't get me wrong...they didn't condone it, but DEFINITELY understood it. Amanda had NO interest in sex once we were married if she could realistically avoid it. Let me make at least a half-hearted attempt at excusing myself here. Being that I'm the author, I get to try to paint myself in a positive light. I was proactive and sharing my concern with her regarding our lack of sex life. I finally went so far as to tell her that I'd find what I needed elsewhere if I didn't start getting it from her.

She steadfastly refused to spend the little money we had wisely, but yet didn't want to work outside the home herself. In short, Amanda was a shrew. I can't say that she was materialistic per se, but she DID want the white picket fence, mini van, etc, etc right away and without contributing to the finances herself. Well, I cheated... eventually felt guilty and told her... enjoyed purgatory for a few years thereafter before we admitted to each other that it just wasn't working and wasn't going to work.

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Well, with the bad taste of this marriage in my mind, I was enjoying Denise, being only human, but also trying to hold her at arm's length emotionally-speaking. She was having none of that, however. She wanted marriage. I STILL don't know what it was about me. I mean...we're talking about a lady who had plenty of opportunity to date professional athletes and very successful business men. I was earning a living, but that's about it. I practically pushed her away telling her that I know women prefer taller men, and even if she thought it was ok now, that eventually she'd be embarrassed about my height. Let's face it. Most women, most of the time will list tall as one of the things that they particularly like in a guy....usually even first. I really didn't think much about it except that she, herself, was tall. She said all the right things to make me think she was one of the minority that truly didn't care. I'm not the most charismatic guy around and pointed that out to her as well. I just didn't want her to think she "could have done better" at some point down the road. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I have low self-esteem or anything. I'd rate myself as a 6 on a scale of 1 – 10. But I felt Denise could easily have had her choice of 8s and above. Again, she convinced me that I was the one...and the only one for her.

Eventually, I started to think that I was going to have to marry Denise or lose her, so I chose the former. It's not like I was kicking or screaming, either. It was a great marriage for quite time. Utopia in the good times. Frustrating, at worst, in the bad times. I had finally come to accept that she loved me for some reason. It was still amusing to see people stop their conversations and stare at us when we came into a restaurant. She was 6'1" in heels, which she often wore and with which I was fine. Me, of course, a towering 5'6 ½' and could almost be that guy that comes into a room and causes everyone turn and ask one another who left. The sex remained good. We engaged in the fruits of marriage at least a couple of times every week. We didn't have all that many marathon sessions anymore as almost always happens after the first couple of years, but I think that I was attentive to her and she was to me. There were very few times either of us felt unsatisfied as far as I know and I had definitely asked her to feel free to communicate her needs with me.

Now...finally to what brings us here.

Looking back, I'm not sure I'd have noticed even if I were looking for a problem. The only real difference in our schedules and in the way that Denise interacted with me was that calls to her would go to voice mail every now and then. Of course, now I can say that was something different, but I thought nothing of it at the time. I seldom called when I knew she was in the air because, what's the point? When I DID call her, she would answer 90% of the time. Now it was more like70% of the time.

Her birthday was coming up, and I thought it would be a great opportunity to surprise her by being at her layover hotel when she arrived in New York. She was going to have 36 hours between working to Newark from Dallas and the working back to Chicago. It was the Christmas season, so being the romantic and smooth guy that I am, I thought an evening and brunch in New York with the whole Rockefeller Center thing would score me big points. I was excited as I made the plans. Unfortunately, I had to leave a day earlier that I would have liked in order to get on a flight. (Those who have "non-rev'd" will have had the opportunity to enjoy scheduling travel like that, but hey....like anyone is going to listen to us complain.)

Well, I arrived in Newark on Tuesday preparing to twiddle my thumbs for about 20 hours or so. I figured I'd stay at a Comfort Inn that first night to save a little money, but I couldn't find anything with any vacancies that didn't look pretty scary, so I just went downtown and got a room at the Radisson, which is the hotel the airline used for crews that were staying more than 18 hours before their next flight. I felt a little guilty about spending the extra money on that, but there wasn't much I could do. I tried to reach Denise in Dallas on her cell, but it turned out to be one of those times that she didn't answer. I walked around until I found a Starbucks and got a venti (I'm only vaguely aware that they have other sizes), skim, Cinnamon Dolce. I tell you this because I have no doubt that you're keenly interested, at this point, what my coffee beverage of choice was on that particular evening.

I decided to head back to my room and get some sleep, excited about surprising my wife the next day. I tried to call her again and got her voice mail again. It was a very interesting timing coincidence, however, that I heard a phone ring with a familiar ring tone in the small crowd just ahead of me....at exactly the same time I was trying to call Denise. Coincidence, you say? Well, as it turns out....not. My heart started pounding as I tried to get an angle to where I could see for sure if my wife was just ahead of me on the busy streets of beautiful New York when she was supposed to be in Dallas. My heart went from pounding to turning very cold and very heavy when I did manage to get an angle sufficient to confirm that my Denise was about 20 feet in front of me and much too close to a striking man to be anything other than a romantic relationship. In fact, they kissed one another a couple of times in the short span of time I had noticed them. Somehow, my latte just didn't seem quite strong enough anymore.

I made sure to stay within sight of them while also making sure they didn't see me until I decided how to proceed. Now, at this point, there are many differing philosophies on what to do next. Let me weed at least a couple of them out by saying that Denise and I had never discussed the possibility of an "open marriage" or any other version of bringing others into the relationship, nor did I have any interest in that. As far as I was aware, neither did she. As I continued to think about it, I continued to follow them at a discrete distance and they eventually made their way back to the hotel into which they were supposedly checking in tomorrow. I didn't follow them onto the elevator, so I don't know they were sharing a room, although, would it really make much difference to me if they weren't? I guess it might have in one way, but it would not have made the betrayal any less real.

I sat in the lobby for a few with my head spinning and, eventually, made a decision. I had no idea how long this had been going on...assuming it was what it appeared to be. I decided that, if there was a chance of saving our marriage, then it would be important for me to know whether this happened to be a one time occurrence, or whether it would continue. Additionally, it was important to me to see if she would tell me about it. I decided to go back home and not tell her...for the moment...that I'd been there. As I thought about the situation on the way home, I tried to imagine what I would think about it from a hypothetical perspective. It seemed that thinking of this situation in those terms would help me figure out the ultimate best approach. I decided I would never want to know about this happening (if I had my choice) under a couple of circumstances: 1. It was a one time or a short-lived affair; 2. She later truly felt sorry about it and ended it; and 3. She genuinely loved me and desired me, sexually, above any others. If that were the case, my first choice would be to remain blissfully ignorant if I could. Since I DID already know about it, I wanted to see if those conditions might play out that way.

Denise got back home from work on Friday and seemed reasonably happy to see me. I thought I might have noticed a hint of guilt coloring her interactions with me a time or two, but it could easily have been my imagination. In the next couple of weeks, I tried some do-it-yourself detective work. Though I didn't find a mountain of information, I did find a couple of emails that made it pretty clear that this wasn't their first time spending quality time together. I didn't get the sense that she was in love with him, for whatever that's worth. Ok...not much. I tried my best to play the loving husband and think I must have succeeded because she didn't ask what was wrong or anything like that. I have to say, it was VERY hard to make myself "perform" the couple of times I needed to do so, but pulled it off somehow. She went to New York again about 3 weeks after the one in which I had planned to surprise her. Needless to say, I was nervous. I didn't know who this guy was, but it was a reasonable guess that he lived in New York. I decided I wanted to see for myself how my lovely wife interacted with her friend, so this time, I made arrangements with the layover hotel near LaGuardia to get a key to her room to "surprise her". Obviously, they don't normally just hand out room keys, but she was my wife and I was able to document that, so no problem.

I got to the hotel and decided to wait in the lobby behind the ever popular newspaper for her to arrive. In spite of overwhelming evidence, I was still hoping. I know...pathetic. Denise got there around 4:00 in the afternoon, and sure enough...about an hour later, my new best friend arrived and picked her up. They kissed deeply and he groped her ass and I had a very tough time keeping my lunch down. When they left...presumably for an early dinner, I went up to her room and let myself in. Thankfully, the closet was one that not only would allow me to hide inside with a pretty reasonable certainty of not being seen since I could stand against one wall and be mostly hidden by the shadows and the clothing she had hanging up, but I could also see the bed at least a little bit.

Time is cruel in these situations and it went both incredibly slowly, but passed all too quickly if that's possible. I heard the lock whir at about 9:15 and they came into the room. It was really more like they fell into the room because their hands were all over one another. They were both completely naked in a manner of minutes and she was kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock in a manner that would have made a porn star proud. I immediately noticed that, while my cock is at best average in size, his was at least a little above average. My guess would be that my 5" was probably comparing pretty poorly to about 7" or 8". The hits just keep on rolling. He moaned and talked to her at a steady pace.

That was devastating to hear. To that point, I hadn't noticed her being any more enthusiastic with him than she was with me or being any louder or doing anything that she didn't also do with me. He ate her pussy slowly at first, and then picked up speed and she gradually moved from soft moans and groans to thrashing and loud, dirty talk.