No bitches burnt in this story and I fully expect to get some of the ever eloquent 'cuck shit' comments at the end of this one, since the story does take a turn down Cuckold Avenue for a time. I tried to create a scenario that might happen even if it is unlikely. I know most people wouldn't react this way but if we did what everyone expected there would be no reason to write the story.
This story uses a theme I have used before, and will probably use again: the inadequacy, at least as perceived by the wife, of the husband as he ages; a common issue.
All sex in this story takes place between person age 18 or older.
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SLOW SEPARATION
In her mind the problem was only temporary.
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The pictures were all laid out on the kitchen table, the product of the investigator I had employed. I was just sipping a soda, waiting for my wife to get home.
The pictures themselves were damning. They left no doubt that Bonnie, my wife of 22 years, was having an affair with a guy probably not much older than our 20-year old daughter, Ginger. It didn't tell me how long it had been going on, but the PI said they were quite familiar with each other so this was definitely not the first time.
Bonnie stood 5'8" and was pretty much as trim as when we had met. She had shoulder length brown hair with matching brown eyes. When we met she had virtually no chest at all (but amazing nipples) and her pregnancy had changed that but not by much. Even now she rarely wore a bra, doing so only when she was concerned that her outfit might reveal too much.
I loved her with all my heart, which made the pain of this all the more hurtful. I didn't think she planned to run away with this...this kid. That didn't make it okay but it somehow made me feel a little better, though in my mind it was the end of our marriage anyway.
She worked as a pharmacist in a local big box pharmacy. She typically got home from work at 6:00, and I was usually home by 4:30.
Right on time, at 6:00 her car finally pulled into the driveway. I watched her climb out of her car, grab her purse from the back seat, and then walk up to the front door. We kept the front door unlocked when we were home, locking it once it started getting dark, so she was able to just walk in, having seen my car in the driveway and so knowing I was home.
"Hey baby. How was your day?"
I caught her eyes shifting briefly to the things spread out on the table but if she knew what they were she didn't give it away. She walked over to me and tried to kiss me but in the time-honored tradition of the aggrieved spouse, I turned my head and she only got my cheek.
"We need to talk," I followed up with immediately.
"Okay, honey. Let me put my things down."
She dropped her purse on the counter as she always did and as she walked back toward the table I adjusted the pictures and documents to both allow her to see them better and to draw attention to them so she would understand they would be the topic of conversation.
As I had hoped, she simply went to the table and looked over everything without my having to say a word, occasionally picking up a picture or document and studying it more closely. I had prepared myself for some crying and pleading. What I got was far different.
"I'm sorry you found out about this. I tried very hard not to let that happen."
The words and her tone of voice suggested she was more disappointed that she had failed to keep her secret more than anything else. I just stared at her, nearly dumbfounded by her response.
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
She looked at me, just as calm as can be. Where was the regret, the anguish, the fear for her marriage? If she felt it she hadn't let on even once. Maybe her motives had been completely misread and she was planning to leave me, and all this did was accelerate her time table.
"What would you have me say, Henry?"
"How about 'I'm sorry' and 'it'll never happen again' and 'it was only sex'. I'm not saying I'd believe you but I expected that at least you'd make the effort."
"Honey, with the exception of the evidence you have in front of us, I have never lied to you about anything in our marriage, and I'm not about to start now. It was definitely only sex; that much is true. But I'm not sorry I did it because it's something I needed, and I can't say it won't happen again because it will. It's something I still need. I can say that I'm sorry it came to this."
Wow. I had run over this conversation in my head a dozen times trying to be prepared for how she might respond, but I realized only now that all of the times I had done that I had assumed she would be begging for forgiveness. It never occurred to me that she'd respond with a resounding 'So?'.
"Well, Bonnie, I appreciate your honesty. It's not what I expected but... Anyway, I'll go see an attorney tomorrow. I'm sure we can come to an equitable split and have this done in just a few months."
"Have what done, honey?"
Bonnie was one of the most intelligent women I knew, but at that moment I couldn't have imagined her saying anything stupider.
"The divorce, Bonnie. What else would there be?"
"A divorce? Because of this? No, baby, I don't want to get divorced."
"Okay, then promise me you'll stop seeing this guy and any others you may have, and we'll see if we can get past this. Call him now and dump him."
I didn't really expect to be able to get past this but I wanted to see her reaction to the demand. Again, I had expected her to leap at the opportunity but she just sat there. It looked like she was turning her options over in her mind. Finally...
"I can't do that, Henry. I won't. I told you this is something that I need. I'm sorry."
"So, given the choice of your boyfriend or divorce, you're choosing your boyfriend? Is that what I'm hearing?"
"It's not about Brian, honey. I don't give a crap about him. But I need what he gives me."
"Bonnie, I have no intention of staying married to a woman that's fucking other men. So it's either them or me."
"Honey," she said, ultimately ignoring my ultimatum, "what you're suggesting is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Let me explain it to you so you can understand what I'm feeling."
"You have something to say that you think will make me okay with you screwing other men? This I've got to hear."
I grabbed another can of soda from the fridge and sat again at the kitchen table. I watched as she tried to organize her thoughts so she could try and justify her actions. I really was curious as to what she had to say.
"Henry, please understand that I'm not trying to be mean when I say this, but for the last few years, well, I've been left unsatisfied when we make love."
I was incensed. Why was this the first I was hearing about this?
"What the hell. So you don't get off when we have sex anymore. Or have you been faking it the entire time we've been married?"
"No baby, I get off every time. You've never failed to make me cum. It's just that these days you're only good for a couple times a week and only a couple orgasms each time. You don't have the stamina you used to and your libido has waned a bit. We used to do it most every night for hours but now..."
"So I got old and you traded me in for a newer model?"
"No baby. I want and need what you give me, but my libido hasn't dropped off like yours has. I still need it as much as I ever did. When we were younger you were all I needed but, well, that's not the case anymore. You still get me off but I need more."
"Why didn't you say something before? Maybe we could have figured something out?"