Size Matters

The goddamn cheating bitch.

I'd loved Viv. I'd given her everything, given in to all her demands and desires, given in to whatever would make her happy. I'd given up the life I had for her.

And never regretted it. Not for one second.

Now I'm finding lingerie in the laundry that I've never seen before. Like some bad porn story, I can practically flake the dried cum off it with my fingernail. I can smell the sex, hers, his, or theirs, whoever's. I'm assuming one partner, but my imagination refuses to stop there.

I got a sealable plastic bag from the kitchen drawer and put the damned thing in it. It seemed the thing to do. Proof of her infidelity, DNA of her lover(s), her DNA. Isn't that what they do in stories?

Vivian was out of town, visiting her mother. When I called last night, she was out with her girlfriends. Now I wondered. I wondered about everything since I met the girl of my dreams. Now I guess she was now just the girl of my nightmares.

Who do you talk to? Who do you confide in that you're a cuckold? That the wife you were so proud of was fucking someone else?

What do you do with your child? Is she your child? I always thought people were teasing when they said she looked more like the mailman than me, but now? I wept.

I took out my.38 and set about cleaning it. I stared down the empty barrel of the revolver and thought about using it to crawl six feet under ground. I thought about planting Viv in a plot of her own first.

I put the gun away. Not worth it.

A whore? Another solution. Vivian was due back tomorrow...

She was maybe 22, eyes of blue and bolt on knockers. Brown roots almost half an inch at the bottom of blond hair, and tattoos snaking up her arms onto her neck. Some looked professional, but others were prison tats. All emphasized her profession. No doubt this woman worked on her back for a living.

She snapped her gum at me. "So, you're Butchie's friend, yeah?"

I quickly opened the door wide so she could enter, looking around the street to see if any of the neighbors had seen her. I quickly closed the door, wanting this private.

"No, Butchie's a friend of a friend." I smiled timidly. "I'm Doug." Actually, I'm Paul. Why did I give her a phony name? She's at my house -- it's not like I could hide.

"Yeah, okay, I'm Wanda. Where do you want to do it?" Snap, snap went her gum.

"Would you like a drink first? I know I would?" I moved towards the bar.

She reached past my hand with the glass of bourbon in it and snagged the bottle. She took a long swig as she slowly spun around, taking in the entire room. "Nice place. Wifey not home, or is she upstairs waiting to join us?"

"No, I'm expecting her to 'join us' in about 45 minutes." I smiled, still nervous around the tattooed whore. "She'll want to see us, uh, involved? When she comes in."

"Kinky," the whore said between sips.

When Vivian came in, she heard the commotion coming from the bedroom and entered to see me pounding away on Wanda. She screamed and rushed out to put our daughter down in her bedroom.

When she came back, Wanda and I were sitting against the headboard, panting a little from our exercise. "You asshole! How could you do this to me?" Vivan screamed at me.

"What do you mean, you did it first! You even left the fucking evidence for me to find in the laundry!" I threw the bag containing the lingerie at my soon to be ex-wife.

She looked at it, dumbfounded, surprised that I'd caught her. She picked it up and shook her head.

"You stupid asshole! This was the babysitter's! I caught her fucking her boyfriend in our bed." Vivian was spitting in fury.

I wasn't buying it. "A likely story! You've been caught!"

She looked exasperated but was actually calmer. "You fucking idiot! This is a size 6. You seriously think I could fit it that?" She turned sideways to show me the baby fat she was still carrying.

My mind went blank. All I could think or say was "Uhhhh?" as Wanda gathered her clothes and the money off the dresser and left, laughing hysterically.