Vegas Revelations

Nothing earth-shaking or particularly new.

My universe, my rules.

I don't have an editor. I did run it through spell check

If you are looking for BTB, look elsewhere.

If you are looking for hotwife, look elsewhere.

2/10 on the sex meter.

Cornelius is a real suburb of Charlotte NC.

Chess Checkers. Idiom for making things simpler or more hard. Chess is playing secretive, hard, and strategic. Checkers is simple with much less strategy..

Vegas Revelations

Friday, April 28 2023

I walked into our bedroom at noon and my gut tied in knots as I looked in. My wife was packing and headed to Vegas for a bachelorette party. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas and all that horse shit. If it wasn't that it was for her damn sister, Sara, I would have objected more, but I understood even though I hated it. Family is important and I understand that.

Since she was going, my problem was that I did not have a thousand extra dollars to have my wife followed by a PI and there was no way I could fly out and go all super spy. I know my wife, Jessica, had no intention of cheating and it probably won't happen. I will probably win playing Russian roulette. I don't do that either. I love my life and I'm content in my life, damnit!

Las Fucking Vegas... Fuck fuck fuck FUUUUUCK! It's not that our suburb, Cornelius, doesn't have predators or lotharios seeking sex with married women. Every place has predators and lotharios, but Las Vegas has more of them, and certainly, more were higher level. Throw in alcohol and the fact that it is a bachelorette weekend away from husbands and you have an ugly storm of possibilities.

I'll give you the short version of me and my wife. My wife and I did the meet in college thing, meeting at the library as the seat next to me was one of the few free so close to finals. I wouldn't call it love at first sight, but it was chemistry at first site. I saw her, she saw me. A smile. Another smile. By some miracle, I did not hesitate and said the massively awesome pickup line of all times, "Hi." I was twenty at the time, she was eighteen. We both had one previous sexual partner.

We talked and it felt nice so we walked outside. I suggested a walk to the center quad and she smiled. We held hands and it felt natural, like her hand was the one I was supposed to be holding.. It felt good and it felt right. We knew. We just did. It wasn't love, but we kissed and I knew I was looking into the eyes of my future wife. I remember that night with the moon over us we kissed. The chemistry was electric. She smiled, "You're him. You are the guy that I am going to marry."

I felt a burden fall from my shoulders. I had found my wife.

It took four dates to have sex even though we both knew we were destined to marry. She later told me she wanted to do it on the third, but she wanted to be on the pill and you have to wait for a new cycle for it to work. She told me right out sex should be all wet, gooey, and messy. I agree and condoms fuck that up. My skin and hers, wet, body heat, hot breath... Magic. We fell fast and hard. The L word came barely three weeks in. We were simply hand-in-glove made for each other.

Oh, right. Hi. I'm Michael Mandel. I'm thirty-two years old and my wife, Jessica is thirty. I'm an outside sales rep for a major trucking firm. I'm six foot, a bit above the median in looks but no model. I have medium brown hair and hung like a horse... If you have a horse with a dick just under six inches when erect. Yeah, I know, boring average, but respectable enough. I'm not fat and we work out at the Y four days a week as a family because the Y has family memberships for a very reasonable amount. It's a good lesson for our daughter to stay fit and healthy if she sees us working on it.

My wife, Jessica is a marketing rep for a hardware company. She arranges the ads, the radio spots, and their web stuff. She has a pretty face more on the cute side than hot. She keeps her dark brown hair at shoulder blade length and I know she does it for me and I know it is a pain for her to take care of. She does it for me. You give. You get.

I married up just a bit but not so much people wonder why she is with me. She is five foot five and 120 pounds and I appreciate that she worked hard to get rid of the baby weight, and yes, I know that is hard work for women. She still has a bit of her baby pooch and she's self-conscious about it, but you can only see it if she is sitting and I only notice when she sighs and then makes a comment about it. She has C-cup breasts with round half-dollar-sized areolas and her vagina is a beautiful slit with small innies, AKA a designer vagina. She keeps a delightful fluff of trimmed pubic hair on her mons but the lower part is bare thanks to some laser treatments. It makes cleanup easier plus I love eating her out, but don't want pubes in my mouth. Eating her pussy is the fastest way to get her from 'Uh, well' okay' to 'OH OH OH!!!! OH YES!' Yes, I care about her orgasms. You give. You get.

You're doing math and realizing she was 22 when we had our daughter. Yeah, antibiotics screw up birth control pills and hello Emily, and a tubal ligation. We had a bit of a scare at the end and the doctors said we were done at one child.. Jessica was eight months along when she graduated college two years after me. We married in a civil ceremony a week after finding out. There was fear, of course, but we always knew we were destined to marry so this was just moving the time earlier.

Back to the present. I had our eight-year-old daughter to take care of while she was away. My guts were in knots and there was not a fucking thing I could do about it. Call me a suspicious chauvinistic bastard. Bachelorette plus drinking plus Vegas equals BAD FUCKING IDEA!

I don't take chances in my marriage. As I said, I'm an outside sales rep for a major trucking firm. Schmoozing people and taking them to lunch is half of my job and I am great at my job. The other half is getting damage claims pushed through for damaged freight when the recipient didn't do their due diligence and inspect the incoming freight. Too many times, a bored employee just pulls the item off the trailer and signs for it without even glancing at the fact someone clearly ran a forklift into whatever they just got. For my schmoozing lunches, I am never alone with a female client in anything more romantic than Applebees. It does not hurt that I am addicted to their beer pretzels appetizer and many times, that is my lunch. If I am taking a woman to lunch, I make it a point to text my wife who I am with, their employer and why I am at lunch with her. It's a second nature habit for me. I love my life and I love my wife. I am transparent to her in all communications and contacts.

I had taken the Friday off so I drove into Charlotte Douglas Airport and gave my wife my best attempt at a smile as I stopped the car at departures and retrieved her suitcase from the trunk. Ten years in, she could read me like a book. She gave me a bit of a sad smile back, "Michael. Trust me. Okay."

I looked down, "I'm sorry."

She pecked me on the lips then stroked my cheek, "Michael. You put me on this impossibly high pedestal that no woman can live up to being perched on."

She kissed me a bit firmer, "And I happen to like the view from up there. Okay? If I ever fall from that pedestal, I know I can never climb back up. What can I say? I love that view from so high up!"

I gave her a smile and I still could not fake it. She looked at me, "Michael. I love you. I love our daughter and I love my life." She turned before I could fake another smile and wheeled her suitcase inside the terminal. She didn't want to look back and see my fake smile. Yeah, I know. I'm an insecure dickhead.

I was able to put bad thoughts aside mostly during the day. I had stuff to get done around the house and my daughter needed help with her homework. My daughter is eight years old, in third grade and she had two hours of homework. She's eight years old for fucks sake with two hours of homework on a fucking Friday. Well it did keep me distracted. We went out for pizza and finished by getting extra large chocolate Milkshakes at Dairy Queen. I am an expert on being an irresponsible dad spoiling the shit out of my daughter.

We were headed out the door on the way to Antonio's Pizza at six that evening when my wife texted me a selfie and that she was leaving for their first stop on a bar crawl. Fuck I hated that. She was wearing a fairly sexy dress. Yes, I had seen the dress a half dozen times and no it was not so sexy her tits would fall out and it was right above the knee for length. She had a super sexy one and it was even translucent material that her areolas were plainly visible with almost a bare boob look. That one was reserved for our special nights out. Yes, I looked and that dress was indeed still in the closet. I love her boobie dress.

I received a text and a few pictures for every new place they went. The first place was called Tahiti somethingthefuckever. She sent a few pictures. It was more a bar than anything and it looked kind of grungy and old. It did not seem like they were there for very long because I got a text only a bit later that they were going elsewhere. She sent several pictures of the next place they went. The second place was called Sherry Shenanigans and was about halfway between a bar and a dance club. I will say that it looked a lot newer and nicer. There was a dedicated dance floor, but the seating area and bar were larger.

They were there a while then I got a text they were moving on and I got more pictures a bit later. It was the third one they went to at nine that night, called Attractions, that was a concern. It was straight up a dance club. Just the place I had hoped they wouldn't go. I looked it up online. A pickup joint dance club if I've ever seen one. At ten I got an update text and they were still at Attractions, 'I a bot drunk but no two badly. I dance with Stephanie. Yes, I turned don al the guys how asked.' Yeah drunk and her autocorrect had changed some of the words from her reduced drunk typing skills.

There were no more texts by the time I went to bed at eleven. I just wanted the damn trip to end. Jessica had never given me the slightest hint of cheating, but yeah, I was Captain Insecure. I was able to get to sleep four fucking hours later and I slept like shit. Drinking spouses in a pickup joint is a terrible idea. I don't care what you say. Couples should never enter one of those without their spouse. I am not my wife's jailor. I have to admit, I wanted to be her jailor that night.

Saturday, April 29, 2023

I woke up in a pissed mood and headed off to piss. I got up before my daughter and walked into the living room still in a grumpy mood. I had left my phone there last night so I picked it up. There was a text right after midnight 12:01 to be exact, 'I left.'

There was a text at five minutes after midnight, 'At room.' There was a selfie of her in her room. She looked more than a bit drunk. Not falling down drunk, but those blursy eyes..."

There was another text at a quarter past twelve, 'Going to bed.' There was another selfie of her from the armpits up. She sleeps naked. She gave me three wishes on our wedding day and I picked that one as number one. 'You will always sleep naked without exception.' Yes, I know I'm a lucky guy and she now prefers it. I never could get her to send me nudes and yeah, I would have loved to get them. I'll take the win I am allotted. I love waking up and pulling her bare body to mine then spooning her. She loves it too, I suspect a bit more than actual sex. I get both. As I said, I am happy. I'm a guy. I prefer my wife naked any time I am with her and we are alone. Yeah, she indulges me.

I started having worse thoughts. Why had she sent me those pics? I assumed guilt.

I was sitting there with an unhappy stomach when I got another text, 'Flt 1304 arriving Charlotte 330PM today.

What the? She was due back Sunday. I called her immediately. It went to voicemail. My heart sank like a stone. I called again, it rang and I was afraid it would go to voicemail. She answered on the fourth ring and I asked anxiously, "What is going on?"

I feared the worst. A woman drunk at a bachelorette in Vegas is an awful combination.

She was crying when she barely squeaked out, "Hello". 'Sank like a stone' was a treat compared to how I was feeling.

I repeated, "What is going on?"

She was sobbing, "I can't say. I just need to come home."

I asked, "Jessica, you are scaring the crap out of me."

She was sobbing softly now, "I can't say why." There was a long pause, "Just pick me up." She hung up. Her last sentence was a bit rude and a demand, not a request.

I received a text at ten after ten, 'They are telling us to shut off phones. We will take off soon. I was good. I PROMISE.'

I know it should have helped, but that last message did not help my stomach one bit. It felt like a preemptive excuse for something that did happen..

The shit hit the fan about a half hour later. My cell rang, "Michael Mandel?"

I answered, "Yes."

There was a big sigh and the guy's voice wavered a bit, "Uh. I think you would like to know. Our wives cheated last night."

WHAM! My stomach got even worse. I hear about guys barfing at this point, but that was not it for me. It was just a feel like acid indigestion but like I had drunk the acid out of my car's battery. I didn't think it was possible, but yeah, worse. MUCH WORSE.

The caller's name was Tom and he was the husband of a friend of her cousin Stephanie. He found my number on a contact list the women had shared. He asked me for my email and gave it to him. He asked that I not broadcast anything as he was part of coordinating a confrontation for the following afternoon at four o'clock by all husbands involved.

Five minutes later I received a link to a Google Drive folder and I downloaded it. There were pictures. Bad pictures. Hundreds of bad pictures. FUCK!!!! Her cousin Stephanie's phone was linked to their Apple iCloud account and set to upload in real-time. Tom's story was that Stephanie's husband stopped getting updates at nine the last evening so started looking around for clues by one in the morning. All he needed was to look at their Apple account and he found what he was looking for. He got more worried as his wife's phone kept going directly to voicemail.

I started to go through them, mentally going through 'the list'. Split savings, Freeze the credit cards, call a lawyer. FUCK. Why do women have to cheat on a damn Friday? Why could I find out on a fucking Monday so I can get the divorce moving?.

There were two files, one marked, "Dance club pics- some bad." and the other marked, "Party room- very bad" I went to the party room folder. The pics were... well, there was a party room or... something. It was a large room that looked like a living room but fancy with marble floors and walls. In the background out the windows, I could tell wherever it was that it was at least ten stories up and probably more.

The first few pictures started with drinking shots. There were guys manhandling various women in the party several photos later. One guy unzipped a dress as part of a series of action shots. Two photos later she appeared to be dancing wearing only a thong and heels. Yeah, nice boobs. Five shots later, I learned she had recently had a Brazilian wax. Another woman had her dress around her waist. The rest of the women were still dressed, but that did not last long. Another forty pictures later, all but one had lost their dresses. Five were completely nude. Five more shots later, there was a picture of dick in a mouth. I skipped ahead. It ended with sex for most if not all. I was in a very bad place.

Whoever was taking the pictures was unsteady at best and the pictures had time stamps further apart, I guess as the picture taker got more into the sex. I confirmed it was her cousin Stephanie taking the pictures when I saw she took selfies of herself stripping off. There was a closeup of a dick, presumably one she was about to suck. There were pictures of sex. Honestly, how stupid was Stephanie? Or drunk? Both obviously.

My world fell apart. Divorce for sure... Wait...?

Then, I noticed something. I looked. At first, I was looking at the subject matter and the acts and panicking, not being logical. Jessica was only in two of the pictures taken after they left the club, #3 and #7 and she was fully clothed in the background and alone. The timestamp on #7 was 11:55 PM.

I looked at my text history, and she had texted me at one minute after midnight. Then it clicked. Relief flooded into me. I was so low and suddenly I wasn't, I double-checked. I triple-checked the backgrounds of every shot. I took an hour and a half of going through shot by shot.

I damn near lost my mind in relief. JESSICA WAS NOT IN ANY OF THE PICTURES AFTER #7!!!!!!" She had left. She was in her room minutes later and going to bed. She could have faked it, I guess and gone back but I believed. I chose to believe she had held her boundaries and I could find no evidence to the contrary when there was piles of evidence on the other women. I wasn't overly happy with her going to some kind of private club room or something, but I could deal with that one.

I was seriously kind of losing it for a while. Emily was at a friend's house while I was at the airport parking the car when I got a text at 3:40. 'Plane door open. I was good, but don't ask about the trip.'

I got another one following up, 'DO NOT ASK. Shutting phone off.' Obviously, she did not want a debate text from me.

I was waiting at the front of security. She saw me and I saw a storm of conflicting emotions.... Then she broke. She just broke and ran the last ten feet into my arms and I held her close. She dropped her carry-on and sobbed and I mean hard. People gave us concerned looks and I took her off to the side and sat on a bench. Her eyes were very red. She said, "Never bring up this trip!" It was a very sorrowful demand.

I looked at her, "I know what happened."

She sat there, clearly calculating her response. I could have played it like a chess game, probing her and what she knew. I went checkers on her. Yeah, I went Mr. Softy for her. I love her and was going to end that torment in her mind.

I held her hands, "Last night Stephanie was taking pictures. Late last night, her husband got suspicious and found photos. Bad ones."

She softly cried. I got up and held out a hand. She took my hand in hers which I squeezed softly. We walked to baggage claim then to short-term parking then to the car silently and we got in. I started driving, leaving her to sort out her conflicted mind. She was silently looking out the window as she realized her phone was still off so she turned it on. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. She looked at her texts as they rolled in and I saw her stiffen as she started reading. I looked over at her face. There was a tear in her eyes then it rolled down her cheek. A minute later, she lost it again and sobbed. Fecal matter was hitting the rotating air moving device. The betrayed husbands had obviously done very well in coordinating their response.

I let her digest the texts as they rolled in. Even after the initial flurry, she was getting one every minute or so. She just stared at her phone. I figured she was watching her sister, cousins, and friends' lives implode. We got home. Emily saw us drive in and came home, wanting to see her mom, "MOM!" Emily ran to her mom then saw Jessica's face and almost panicked, "What is wrong mom!?"

I interposed myself, "Your mom got sick. Go play."

Emily did not buy it, but nodded and went to her room after hugging her mom and, "I love you, Mommy." Jessica smiled even if a bit weakly, her daughter's heartfelt words were salve for her injured soul.