Stopping Her Affair

Stopping Her Affair, Save Their Marriage and she thought it was all her idea

Thanks for editing goes to drbob80. It is not all right to post this story on other website. Copyright reserved

If this story offends your morality or your fetishes, read something else.

If you hate all who stumble and fall, read no further.

If you get off on the righteous male delighting in a begging female, this story is not for you either.

If you expect true life reality, you are on the wrong website.

If you try the actions described here, you may prove by example, that Darwinian selection still is occurring, and you have a good chance of being selected.

If you like a good story, enjoy. This is all fiction.

*

I am semi retired. I live more simply now, alone by choice, and have my own routine. My life revolves around my son, Robert, his wife, Dawn, and my grandson Bobbie. After that comes my love interest of the month, my gardens, civic duties and odd jobs take up what time's left.

My son is really focused on his career, as you have to be these days. He's doing well as a company guy, very well in fact. I know, I do their taxes. Everything seemed OK for him in the work and money department. Think engineer, that's him. I actually enjoy his wife's conversation more than his. Dawn (her folks were a couple of hippies) is intuitive, quicker witted, and better read than Robert. She's a big believer in Edgar Cayce, the possibility of alien UFOs and the weird rumor of the week. Since she's into bible scholarship, and philosophy in general, she's interesting to talk to. To be truthful, most of the time I often don't know what she really believes, as opposed to what she advocates just for the joy of a good argument, and to talk about interesting stuff.

Yesterday, while we had lunch sitting in her kitchen, she was convinced, for example, that there are people on this earth who are leading parallel lives with us. They are referred to as doppelgangers. She felt there are likely several couples identical to her and Robert, but perhaps older or younger, probably living in other countries, but each has one son, one grandmother, and two grandfathers, etc, etc. She thinks that when you meet one of them, and she has met two in her life (this is from her, not me!), you can get a glimpse of the future if they are older than you and it almost always is a harbinger of bad luck. I wasn't much help on that one. "And how do you recognize a doppleganger?" I asked.

"Well it can be difficult, but usually they signal their coming. Something that gets your attention. Like I was wondering about getting serious when we were dating. I mean, I'm like into the moment, and he's into planning. Was it a good match? I was getting dressed, and there was a tremendous clang! I jumped a mile. Turns out it was only workmen dropping a huge thick piece of metal over a big hole they had dug. They had been working on the road in front of the dorm. When I got to the coffee shop that morning, two women were talking, and one said "Opposites do attract! My husband is really detail oriented, and I'm so impulsive, but it works out great! I loosen him up a bit, and he puts the brakes on me sometimes."

So you see?"

"Well, no Dawn I don't see."

"The big bang alerted me to wisdom I would soon receive from my doppelganger. That woman. She answered my question, and she was right. I married Robert and it's worked out good."

"So revelations from Zeus are preceded by the flash of lightening and the sound of thunder?".

"Well, ya, sort of. I mean it might be something different, but it will be something that grabs your attention."

I couldn't really think of a logical explanation why this should be true. In the absence of facts, rational explanations wobble. Of course, she had no explanation of exactly how this could be either.

The conversation drifted to predestination, (Everything is known by god, so there is no free will). I'm a free will guy, myself. If god is all powerful, he could have made us all pure and such, but as we are not, then he has given us free will.

So my week is broken up into days I do work around the house, days I goof off, and days, like today, where I pay the rent. My job is keeping the tourist brochures in the racks at four museums, 9 or 10 hotels, depending on who's in business this month, and one rest stop on the turnpike in the three county area. The pay isn't much, but they do pay mileage, and I make money on that, since I have an old diesel Jetta. I even get a discount on insurance and registration because it's a vintage car! I pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot, my third of the nine stops I have to make today. As I was getting the boxes out from the trunk, I saw my daughter in law at the far end of the parking lot get out of her car, and walk with a bounce and a swing over to a fellow about 10 years older, just getting out of a red Miata. Dawn give him a very warm kiss and a grope. How about that!

I ducked behind my car, and watched through the windows as they scampered up the stairs, along the balcony, arms around each other, his hand in her hip pocket. They went into room 211, closed the door and were gone. She was too intent on him to notice much of anything else. Normally my vintage car sticks out in a crowd. I could have been dressed in a gorilla suit, and they wouldn't have noticed. Well I had no time to do much of anything about her right then, and maybe it wasn't my job. I needed to think about this. Act in haste, regret at leisure. Meanwhile, labor calls, I carried a box of brochures into the motel office. I use boxes that liquor came in, as they have twelve compartments, and I fill each with a different brochure

I've been going to this hotel every couple of weeks for years, well before Kumar Patel took over the place. As usual, his wife Mohini, was at the desk, and greeted me warmly. She was a short, nicely rounded woman with a twinkle in her eye, and a sharp mind. Moe likes to banter and talk about American/Indian cultural differences. A year ago she was talking about how American women shave everything, and think not to do so is gross, and that her husband initially forbade her to shave anything at all, and then only reluctantly agree to let her shave her legs when she pointed out that even most Indian women shave their legs.

I told her she was my dream, as I liked women exactly as she was groomed. I promised her that given the chance, I would gladly nuzzle and lick all the furry spots and more besides! She blushed furiously, and reminded me she was a married woman. When Kumar went to see his mother in Ireland (of all places) I reminded her of my letch, and we ended up in bed.

We both enjoyed it so much, that it stretched into a marathon of fucking, sucking, and toys nearly every day for about 10 days. We had a delightful time, but called it to an end by mutual consent, as Kumar was returning, and it was time to resemble responsible adults. But that is another story!

So now you know why I had no problem asking Mo for some confidential information. After a bit of chit chat, I asked "Mo, what's the deal with the guy in room 211?"

"Ohh," she says, "A fun guy. He come here every week same time, same room. Mr. Michael Gorski is the name."

"Who's he work for?" asks I.

"Ahh, he pay me. I make the money, so he must work for me! Ha Ha."

"No, seriously. Mo."

"How should I know?"

"Well, does his credit card have a business name on it? Shouldn't you not be looking at these, Homeland Security and all?"

"Let me look in the file. He's only a terror to the women, no interest for Mr. Obama, but competition for you with the ladies! Is that not so! Yah, it says here UBC Digital Inc. Say, I'm not suppose to tell you this, why you are asking?"

"I think I know the women he's with, and you can be certain he doesn't have to worry about me as competition for her. I prefer dark haired women." That got a blush out of her.

"Oh, is she light haired? I never see her, just hear about what they do from Aunt Chahna who cleans the room. Messy sheets, smell of fucking. But good customer, in at 12:30, out at 2:30 PM. Leave a mess? No they do not! Nor do they take towels. Fun for them, good business for us!"

We chatted a bit more, then she got back to their accounts, and I finished loading the brochure rack. So what to do? Tell my boy Robert his wife's put the horns on him? Confront them today? Tell her to knock it off? Neither really fit. After all, if she would get custody of the kid, and she probably would, if she even suspected I ratted her out, I'd never see my grandson again. Then too, a brief affair certainly isn't a good thing, but it doesn't have to be a marriage-ending thing. No end of reasons why people cheat; because they aren't getting what they need at home, emotional or physical; just for the thrill of it; or as a transition out of the marriage? Who knows?

So, I could rat her out, or Gorski...Now that was a thought. Gorski! If he's married, that might bring it to a halt. Or...not. Of course, he might confess, and then his wife might want revenge. Call Robert, and that would be a mess. I don't think Robert would take too kindly...divorce quite possibly. Well, I could make it difficult for them, wages of sin and all, and hopefully not get arrested for harassment. If things started going wrong, Dawn is very superstitious for a person with some education. I bet, with a bit of work, I could spook her into quitting, without getting caught. Get her wierded out, so to speak, and she might turn out Gorski as the load of bad Karma I assumed he was.

I started the Jetta and drove out onto the highway, leaving a puff of soot in the air. Mo could see me leave the motel, if she was watching. Thirty yards down the road, I pulled into the parking lot of the Wash and Fold next door to the Holiday Inn. Out of Mo's sight, I rummaged in the trunk for a pair of nippers, crossed the parking barrier, and walked over to Dawn's car. I glanced at the closed curtains in room 211, bent down and nipped the valve stems on the passenger side of her car, just enough to hear a hiss. I wrote down Michael Gorski's license plate number on the palm of my hand with a ball point pen, and walked back out to my car.

On my way home, I stopped off at our local police station. I've known the chief of the village's three man outfit since he played on a Slip and Slide.

"Sandy: I have a license number, here, I wonder what you could tell me about the owner?" I had copied the number onto a bit of foolscap, and handed it to him.

"Well, I'm not allowed to tell you anything from the police data base. That stuff is all private, confidential, you know?"

"Oh bull! For 25 bucks I can get it off of the internet, and find out if the owner wears dentures besides. 'S matter with you! Your office bugged? This isn't going to come back on you, I'm not doing anything rash. I think the owner's a pussy hound sniffing where he shouldn't."

"Sounds like trouble to me. We hate to get domestic squabbles. People, including cops and well meaning relatives, get shot, covered with feces, brained with beer bottles...the tales I could tell! Give me an armed robbery any day. At least you go in expecting bullets to fly. Other than domestic quarrels, being a cop in this town is stupefying, and I like it to stay that way. Tell you what, get me and yourself a coffee next door at the Boisterous Belchertown Bean Roaster, and we'll talk when you get back. I like mine black."

"Sure"

I knew the young lady that runs the Bean Roaster. She's a refugee from the Starbucks over in Amherst, and I recommended her for the loan to buy the building. "Good morning Brie (poor girl, named after a moldy cheese. Miracle she's done so well!) Two small blacks to go. Did your dad ever get the old Ford Falcon station wagon he was looking for?"

"Actually he did. He followed up on that lead you gave him. Mom wishes you had kept your damn mouth shut. Got it for $3,500. He thinks it's a great deal since all the numbers match. He's pouring money into it to restore it. I think he's an idiot. 'Don't know who would have wanted one of those in 1960, never mind now. Geeze, do you think my Dodge Shadow will be worth a lot in 50 years?"

"Who can tell, Brie, who can tell."

Back in Sandy's office, sipping coffee.

" Now Bob, just speaking hypothetically, if something happened to somebody a couple of days after I checked him out for no reason at all, someone might come by and ask me difficult questions, what it was about, why I'd do that. Hmmm? One or two weeks, now, it would be off the radar unless something really nasty happened. Nothing really nasty is going to happen, is it!" It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Gosh", says I, "I can understand that. Those computers know everything, and understand nothing. Well don't you mind, nothing awful going to happen to that fellah, who ever he is."

Sandy handed me a hand written note, Michael Gorski, a cell phone number, a land line and an address.

"He co-owns a SUV with his wife, Michelle Gorski, make and license number on the sheet. They also have a Miata, which you presumably saw. Both are apparently clean as far as the law goes. Their credit rating is piss poor, though, don't loan him any money!"

"Gezz you guys are connected, aren't you." We traded cheating spouse jokes, and bullshitted until the coffee was done.

With thanks, I headed out the door. Gorski didn't live that far away.

I drove by the address, nice place; really...he mows his grass, but obviously doesn't own a weed whacker, judging from the tufts around the trees and sidewalk. Nothing remarkable. It was close to three PM when I got a call from Dawn. She had a flat, and would be delayed, would I pick up Bobbie at the elementary school?

"Sure, I'm out and about, but I have some time yet, where are you? I'll pop over and either fix it, or pick you up and go back after we get the lad."

"Gee, thanks Pop, I can always count on you, but a nice man's jacking up the car right now. If there's a problem with the spare, I'll call and take you up on that."

Nice man, Ha! The car isn't the only thing he's jacking, is it!

I reasoned that to do this right, I needed intelligence information. Hopefully I wouldn't go to jail over this. Over the next day or two, I got together a tool kit. The local spy store in Holyoke supplied a clock radio that concealed a color video camera with microphone with a 500 yard broadcast range. You could set it up to broadcast whenever a built in motion detector saw movement. I also rented a transponder for her car, so I could track it on my computer. As a whim, on closeout, I bought another microphone/sound detector that would broadcast through a cell phone. Neat little thing, plug it into 12 volts, it had a sound activated switch. Would call over a built in cell phone, to any number you programmed into it. My cell phone, in this case. That night, I was thinking that if or when Dawn called me from her car. My cell would be tied up, listening to the car noises, her radio and such like. I resolved to get a disposable phone so my cell would be open. A bit more money, but what the heck. If you're serious about doing something, you need good tools, and I can sell this stuff on E bay when I'm done.

Later that weekend, over at the kid's house, I was adding shelving to a closet and baby sitting Bobby, while my son played golf. Never had any use for golf, myself, but god bless others who do. Dawn was out at the gym, and Bobbie was playing with the twins next door, I purloined the spare key to her car, called the twin's plump, but lovely mother to tell her I had to go out for maybe half an hour. No problem there. The local Hardware store made a duplicate key, and I picked up a box of screws. Back at the house, I dropped the spare back in the key jar, and reported in next door. I finished putting up the shelving in the hall closet, which was ostensibly why I came over, plus to get a good lunch.

I had everything cleaned up, when Dawn came in with greasy bags from Taco Hell. Other than the food, we had a nice lunch in the kitchen. As I said earlier, I genuinely like Dawn, and she knows it. She has her foibles, but at heart, is a cheerful, clever, caring, person. When she laughs her nose wrinkles, her cheek bones color, and a peal of cheer comes out. Frankly, fucking Gorski seemed... Well it surprised me. I wouldn't have thought she had it in her to do this. She's too smart for such a dumb thing. I put the paper plates in the trash, kissed Dawn and Bobby goodbye, and went on my way. She really is a lovely girl. In the car, I started laughing again about the story she told me a story Bobby's teacher reported. Bobby was asked why dogs wag their tails. He replied "I don't know...but it's very common." I was chuckling now, recalling it in my mind. I sure hope this Gorski thing blows over.

Monday, I spent about 35 minutes installing the microphone and the tracking stuff in Dawn's car in the parking lot at the college where she works part time. I turned her car radio on, my second cell phone rang, and I was hearing everything just fine. The only thing is, Dawn likes country music. Shit! I was going to have to listen to a lot of crummy country music in weeks to come. Not fair, that.

At noon the next day, my extra cell phone rang, and after a minute or two over some dismal country music, I heard Dawn natter with some friend she was planning to have lunch with. Chick shit, Something about coming along later, blah blah blah. Silence for a bit, except for the doleful singing, if you can call it that, from a sacrilegious group from Texas...called themselves The Bovine Breeders! A moment later she was talking to Michael! She was planting wet kisses in his ear, "Oh I can't wait for Wednesday, yada yada yada, same time same place See you then, get a good night's sleep, and don't play with it, my Big Stud."

Tuesday I stopped by the Holiday Inn, gave the maid a tale (this one a local girl, not any relation to Kumar so this might stay a secret), and she let me into room 211. I plugged in the video clock radio, set the time. Sound and picture both came in on my laptop. As it was motion activated, I couldn't check the transmission distance, but only wait and see. I put the hotel's alarm clock in the bag the spy radio came in. Wouldn't do to have someone notice that there were two clock radios in the room. Ain't technology great!

On Tuesday afternoon, at 3:30 PM, my cell phone rang, to the tune of my Cheating Heart, followed by something with the refrain sung with a Texas accent "It's nasty down there, all that hair, its nasty down there, I despair!" Ugg! Worse that a Burma Shave jingle in a poetry class. I hit the disconnect, but my phone rang again immediately, so I had to shut the damn thing off. I did check the tracking program, damn, there's the little red car icon on a road map, sort of like Monopoly board piece. Knew right were she was, going north on State street, just passing North Maple street, going to pick Bobby at grammar school.

The big day.

11:30 AM in the garden of dirty linen across from the Hotel. No snow on the ground, but it was cold with a bitter wind. Us New Englanders are not allowed to bitch about the weather, stoic endurance is one of the many things we believe make us superior to the rest of the country. I drove my pickup truck this time, hoping to be less conspicuous, and parked it at the Wash and Fold, with another car between me and the hotel. I could see room 211 through the other car's windows. My computer was plugged into my car's electrical system, cell phone off because of the goddamn music. Peace and quite. Michael came in right on time, parked, and went up to the room. He must check into the hotel on his way to work. Lookie, lookie, there he was on television, flopped on his back on the bed, giving his nuts a good scratch. Moments later, Dawn came whipping into the parking lot, and parked some distance away, just a minute or two behind him. She went tripping up to the room, carrying a fast food bag. Great picture of Michael tossing his cloths off, and going into the bathroom starkers. Nice body, but it looked to me he was heading towards fat! The bathroom was off camera, but I could hear, with a bit of envy, the sound of a healthy piss.