It had been nearly twenty minutes since she'd gone inside. I sat in my car, occupying the wait by listening to gravel crunch under the tires of patrons coming and going. It was a cool dry evening and each crunch was accompanied by a cloud of billowy dust. The Rumgoose Saloon parking lot was crowded for a Wednesday, but I saw her the moment she strolled back out.
I started to suspect what she was shortly after we were married, but now, the stupid-looking-wannabe-cowboy-fuck on each of her arms solidified my darkest doubts in one gut wrenching moment of truth. I followed her out here tonight with one purpose. Sam Stone had told me if I obtained some solid evidence I could dump her and keep everything, and if you can't get free advice from time to time, what the fuck is the point of having lawyer friends? I brought the video camera because I needed more tangible proof than just her eyes sizing up every bulge in the grocery store. I needed more evidence than the stink of semen on her breath after coming home late from work. I wasn't expecting it to happen this fast. I thought I'd have to follow her around for a few days, maybe even a week, but here I am and there she is, and there are two young trolls helping her into an old Ford pickup missing it's bumper.
They sped up the road swerving occasionally to avoid nothing. Trailing behind at a safe distance, my thoughts begin to coil in my head, squeezing my brain. Since taking Lisa for my wife there had always been enough uncertainty to be certain, and the other way around. It had always been; "what if? What if? What if?" Now, in the moment, I finally realize that I needed to answer the question I had been asking myself for years. I realize now what certainty feels like, and it makes me dizzy.
Finally the truck veers off the road and up a long dirt driveway, losing its side view mirror to a tree. I slowly turn into the driveway, rolling over the discarded mirror. I'm having trouble breathing, and my head is still swimming. I turn off my headlights to avoid being seen, but I fear my heart beat can be heard back at the Rumgoose. I park halfway up the driveway and watch as she stumbles out of the truck. The dark-haired-wannabe-cowboy-motherfucker helps her onto the porch. They wait there for the other wannabe, and her giggles pierce the night air. The slow blonde one slams the truck door and shambles up to the porch and they all fall through the front door of the dilapidated cabin.
I watch lights pop on in order as they move about, a luminous trail marking their path through the house. Finally, once it seems they have moved deep enough into the rotting cabin, I slide out of the car. Walking carefully to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves, the camera clutched in my sweaty hands, I approach the porch. It reeks of mildew, mold, and waterlogged wood. In another three years it won't be standing. This is where my wife is going to spend her time? This rotting cesspool? I gave to her without limitations since we started dating, but it is only a cheap fuck in a collapsing house, that will fulfill her. My right foot finds the first step, and the moment I shift my weight, a wooden creak shatters the silence. I freeze. The empty night is so quite it's deafening. I decide to try my luck by walking the perimeter of the house, to see what's to be seen from the tree line.
As I circle around back I notice the blonde wannabe backlit in a first floor window. He paces back and forth and I can hear the muffled sounds of the animated conversation he is having with someone in another room. He chuckles and pulls his tired white t-shirt over his head before replacing his equally exhausted cowboy hat. While he fusses with his jeans, I decide to set up shop. I place the camera in the crook of a small tree, check the focus, and start recording. He has finally wrestled his pants to the ground when my wife appears in the doorway. They lock eyes and giggle, and I can see the fat lump in his tight, white, boy-underwear. No man should be seen in those things. When Lisa slides her finger across the length of the lump, I punch a nearby tree. The pain lunges up my arm and snaps me to attention. Small pools of blood collect across my knuckles. This is it. This is how it ends. I just need to film a few seconds of this, and I can finally get rid of her.
Her focus hasn't changed, eyes glued to his bulge, she slinks down to her knees. She plants small, delicate kisses, gently across the length of his concealed cock. There are sweat marks on her shirt, darkening the red cloth to maroon around her neck, back, armpits, and tits. I think of how wet she gets when she is excited enough to sweat on a cool dry summer night. I know what her horny cunt looks like under her black skirt, under her- was she even wearing anything under that skirt? With closed eyes, I can see the way her pussy looks when she's that turned on, her lips swollen and slippery. I love to feel her when she's fired up. I love to slide my fingers across those lips, slide my thumb inside her, rub her slick arousal between my fingers, lap it up with my tongue. It's been years since she has been that eager for me, but I still remember the sweet smell of her wet cunt. I know that smell must be filling that dingy house and I resist the temptation to assault the tree a second time.
I finally realize I can't watch anymore, and decide to head back to the car while the camera gathers evidence alone, when the brown-haired wannabe strolls through the doorway. Still kneeling Lisa turns to him and laughs, then the blonde one swings his hips, arms folded behind his head, doing a testosterone-laden dance full of pelvic thrusting. Lisa's attention immediately returns to the moving package. Gently she begins to peel back his tight utilitarian underwear. She savors every inch of his young, stupid, flesh, as her delicate hands pull back the white cotton. Finally with all obstacles removed, his heavy cock swings back and forth in my wife's hungry gaze. With a smirk she lifts his equipment for inspection. She slowly traces the tool with her finger, base to head, base to head. His pleasure quickly becomes apparent.
