Yes I Do Mind

This is my ending to Kalimaxos' recent story, "

Just Once... If You Don't Mind?

" about a wife who leaves her husband to spend six weeks in South America with her lover, a doctor with whom she works. If you haven't read his story, I suggest you do.

Every so often, I run across a story that just grabs me by the stacking swivel and won't let go until I do something about it. For those of you not familiar with that particular term, I suggest you look it up in the Unofficial Unabridged Dictionary for Marines...

This was one such story, and to me, it just screamed for a heaping helping of the SaddleTramp Treatment. At the end, Kalimaxos said he originally intended to write multiple endings, but then chose not to and opened it up for other writers to come up with their own ending, stating no express permission was required.

"Have fun with it," he wrote. Who can resist that? Certainly not me. So here is my ending to his story. Many thanks to Kalimaxos for the original story, his ongoing support and his encouragement in my writing of this sequel.

As always, constructive comments are always welcome and appreciated. Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I do moderate comments.) Please remember, this is a work of fiction, meaning that it is not real in any way, shape, matter or form.

My story picks up at the end of Kalimaxos' original, when Rick (the husband) finishes reading a letter his wayward wife wrote to him.

End of "Just Once... If You Don't Mind?"

When I finished reading it, I noticed Leslie was at the kitchen island filling her glass again.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

"I will be," I replied.

She nodded and came back with the bottle and her filled glass. Sitting next to me this time, she refilled my glass and turned to look at me with those doe-like eyes.

"So, Rick? What do we do?"

* * * * *

And now, my conclusion: "Yes, I Do Mind"

"Right now, WE aren't going to do ANYTHING," I told Leslie in a firm tone of voice. "You and Marcy have been planning to ambush me with this little scheme of yours for two weeks now. And I'm JUST hearing about it tonight. And from what you're telling me, I get the impression she's had something going on the side for some time before that. Am I right?"

"I... guess so," she said, looking down. It was obvious she wasn't used to someone not instantly falling for her feminine charms, of which she had many. If I were a single man, I'd be jumping up and down on it like a wild man. But I don't like being played, and especially not by someone I had loved for most of my entire adult life. And I told her as much in no uncertain terms.

"You said yourself this was something she wanted to do to ease her own guilty conscience," I said. "Or it could be something else. It's obvious this was something the two of you cooked up behind my back. She even told you what wine to get me. The problem is, I don't appreciate being used like that."

"I... guess I can understand how you might feel," she said quietly. "So I guess this means nothing is going to happen between us?"

"Not tonight. Basically, it means I have a lot to think about and a lot to consider before I do something drastic," I said. I wanted her to think there was a chance that something might happen. I figured that way, she would be more open to answering whatever questions I might have.

Right now, though, I needed information. There were too many things about this whole situation that didn't sit right with me. There's a saying that military people are very familiar with: Know your enemy. I hated thinking of Marcy as "the enemy," but in my mind, she had drawn first blood. And I was determined to win. By any means necessary.

"So," Leslie said. "Can we count on you joining us for dinner in a day or two?"

"I don't know, Leslie," I said. "Right now, I'm not really in the mood for company. I have a lot to sort out. We'll see."

"Okay," she said quietly. "Just know that I'll be available for you any time."

"I appreciate that, Leslie," I said. "Good night. And thanks for the wine," I added, standing up. She took that as her cue to leave, which she did. I admired her ass as she walked away -- I couldn't help it, and I AM a healthy, red-blooded male. After she left, I picked up Marcy's letter and read through it again.

It's amazing what you can see if you take the time to analyze a letter like this. For starters, I couldn't help but notice the venom when she wrote about Diedre Kiel, the CIA operative I worked with in Iraq. Marcy even admitted she wasn't 100 percent certain that Diedre and I had sex, but she still referred to her as a "bitch."

Then, just a few paragraphs later, she's all but demanding I fuck Leslie "until she is crosseyed and babbling." How could she go from one extreme to the other in such a short space? That didn't make much sense to me.

It's true that Diedre and I did get together once in Iraq, but that was in the heat of the moment, and we never once had penetrative sex. It happened right after we survived an ambush. It was the only time we ever messed around, and we certainly didn't spend weeks plotting it the way Marcy obviously did with Trey and Leslie.

I remembered having mixed feelings about it at the time. One one hand, I felt guilty about cheating on my wife, but on the other hand, I already suspected Marcy was cheating on me, so I felt one good turn deserved another.

I also wondered why Marcy didn't want me to meet her at the airport when she came back. I could understand her being concerned that I would get violent with her, but I had never given her any indication of that in the past.

And why would she ask that I meet her in the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel? Why not come straight home? Unless... Then it hit me. Was she really THAT devious? Of course, the fact that she plotted this for weeks right under my nose answered that question. But what the hell is really going on here?

I turned and looked in the front room, looking for anything that didn't belong -- anything that might be a surveillance device like a camera or a microphone. I looked at the smoke alarm. Could there be a camera installed there? I decided to make a couple calls, but I didn't want to make them inside just in case I was being monitored. I grabbed Marcy's itinerary, went out the front door and sat in the swinging chair I installed there some time back.

Marcy knows that I'm a consultant. But what she doesn't know is that I'm actually the senior security consultant for Acme Global, a huge corporation with interests and offices around the world. It's my job to make sure those offices remain safe and secure, and it's my job to ensure the safety and security of our employees. That means I have contacts around the world I can reach out to if I need something done.

My first call was to Alan Williams, the top tech specialist in my department. He was more than just good -- he was the best in his business.

"Williams," he said when he answered the call.

"Alan, this is Rick," I said. "How's it going?"

"Going pretty good, boss," he said. "But I get the feeling you didn't call me just to ask how I was doing."

"No, I didn't, Alan," I said. "I could use your expertise." I gave him the Reader's Digest version of what had happened and expressed my concerns.

"I'm sorry to hear that about you and Marcy, Rick," he said. "I understand your concern. Tell you what, give me about 45 minutes to get some gear together and I'll be right over."

"Thanks, Alan," I said. "I appreciate that." We ended the call and I scrolled through my contacts to find the second number. After I found it, I placed the call.

"

Hola

,

Señor

Rick

,"

said the jolly male voice at the other end of the call.

"Ernesto, how are things with you, my friend?" I asked. Ernesto Trujillo was my go-to man in that area of South America, and he was based at our office in -- wait for it -- Bogota, the very same city Marcy and her lover or lovers were currently based. I had dealt with Ernesto before and found him to be one of the most reliable and trustworthy men I had ever worked with.

"Oh, doing well here, boss," he said. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you today. What can I do for you?" I gave him the same run-down I gave Alan.

"Damn," he said when I finished. "I am truly sorry to hear that, my friend. I take it you need eyes and ears on the ground here, then?"

"Yes, Ernesto," I said, giving him the name of the hotel where Marcy was staying along with the room numbers of her, her lover and Penny. I also told him about Pablo Espinosa, the hotel manager I had spoken to before. "Can you do that?"

"

Si

, my friend, I can get you anything you need," he said. "I take it you want audio, video and pictures?"

"Yes," I said. "The works. And I'd like a daily recap if that's alright. Let me know if you need any walking around money and I'll wire down what you need. I'll also send you their itinerary for the next few weeks."

"Sounds good," he said. "You want anything, er, special, done with them?" I knew Ernesto had friends in both high and low places but I wasn't quite ready to go there just yet.

"Not yet," I said. "Right now, I need information. We have six weeks."

"Okay, you're the boss," he said. "Let me get started and I'll be in touch."

"Thanks, Ernesto, I really appreciate it. I'll make it worth your while," I said. "And give my best to your family." Ernesto was married with five children and he loved them all dearly.

"I know you will," he said. "And thank you. I'll pass that on to Lupe and the kids." After we ended the call, I scanned Marcy's itinerary, converted it to PDF on my phone and emailed it to Ernesto. After I confirmed that he received the file, I put my phone away.

Shortly afterward, Alan pulled into my driveway. He got out of the car and walked up, carrying a large case I knew was full of electronic gear. We shook hands on the porch and I ushered him inside. As I watched, he pulled some gear out of the case and began his search.

In 30 minutes, he discovered miniature wireless cameras in several rooms of the house, mostly installed in the smoke detectors. All of them appeared to be sound and/or motion-activated. There were cameras in almost every room of the house except for the bathrooms. We also found a few tiny microphones and Alan discovered that our land-line had also been bugged.

"These units don't have much range," Alan said. "There's got to be a receiver around here somewhere. Maybe it's in the garage or the attic." We searched the garage but found nothing. I escorted him to the attic after grabbing a flashlight and we looked around. Sure enough, there was a box in one corner of the attic with a laptop attached to it.

When we moved the laptop, the screen-saver came up. It was locked and I had no idea what the password might be. Alan checked it out carefully.

"It looks like this thing saves whatever audio and video the cameras and microphones gather, then uploads everything to the cloud later using wireless," Alan said.

"Can you tell who this stuff belongs to?" I asked. Alan looked at the box and found a sticker that read, "Property of Smith Investigations. 1277 West Main St., Ste A." There was also a phone number on the sticker. How convenient, I thought to myself.

"So, what do you want me to do with all this?" Alan asked. "Want me to disable everything?" I thought about it for a bit before answering. My initial reaction was to have him get rid of it all, but I had another idea.

"Disable the camera and microphone they put in my office," I said. "Leave the rest up. They want video, I'll give them video. It'll be the most boring video they can imagine." Alan chuckled at that. I also had some ideas about using this gear to fuck with Marcy's head a bit.

"Okay," he said. We left the attic and went back downstairs. Alan got rid of the camera and microphone in my office, then looked at the computer Marcy and I shared that sat on the desk. "You want me to check that out as well?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Let's cover all the bases." I brought the computer up and watched as Alan did his magic. Sure enough, Marcy had installed a key-logger program on it the night before she left. Since I hadn't used it, there wouldn't be anything for her to capture. After performing a thorough scan, he also found some spyware she or her private investigator had installed. He cleaned it all up and ran another scan.

"Looks clean to me now," he said.

"Why do you think she would go to all this trouble?" I asked Alan.

"Well, if I were to guess, I'd say she intends to set you up for something," he said, confirming what I had already suspected. "Maybe she's planning to divorce you and is getting ready to take your ass to the cleaners."

"I hate to say it, Alan, but I think you're right," I said.

"Mind if I make a suggestion?" he asked as he put his gear away.

"Not at all," I said.

"If she had an investigator come in to install all this stuff, chances are he's still got a key to your house," Alan said. "After all, he'd have to come back at some point to collect his stuff. If I were you, I'd have the locks changed. Immediately. And I'd change the code on your security system."

"That's a good idea," I said. "I'll call a locksmith right away. Thanks for coming out, Alan, I really appreciate all your help." After we said our goodbyes, I pulled my phone out and looked up a locksmith. I found one and called. It would cost me an extra $50, but it was worth it to me. The last thing I wanted was some private investigator coming into my house.

As I waited for the locksmith, I sat down to the computer Marcy and I shared. I fired it up and logged in as Marcy. I wanted to find out what she had been up to lately, and I figured this was as good a place to start as any. I pulled up her browser and opened her web email client. It came right up without even asking for a password. Apparently, I thought, her credentials had already been cached, and she hadn't changed it the way I suggested. This was one time I was actually glad she didn't follow my advise.

Normally, I didn't snoop on her computer usage, choosing not to invade her privacy. But this was different. In my view, she had declared war. And I was determined to win. I looked through her emails. Most of it was spam, but there were a number of emails between her and Trey fucking Cardosa, the doctor she's now screwing in Bogota.

Rather than read them all at once, I performed a search and was presented with a number of email threads between them that went back more than a year. Interesting, I thought. I selected them, then exported and saved them to a thumb drive so I could go through them later.

There were several emails between her and the kids -- small talk, mostly, and nothing of note. By then, the locksmith arrived and I showed him the doors I needed new locks on. I turned him loose on that and went back to the computer. Going through the threads between Marcy and her doctor, I found one with the subject, "Lawyer."

Curious, I opened it up. The first was an email from her, telling Trey that she had just spoken with her lawyer, one Allison Hargraves, and had read the proposed divorce settlement and post-nuptial agreement.

"She argued against doing it, but I really don't care at this point," she wrote. "I'm going through with this no matter what."

"You're going to actually divorce Rick?" he wrote back. "I thought you loved him. You said you intend to spend the rest of your life with him. What's going on?"

"I do love him," she answered. "And I intend to spend the rest of my life with him. But things are going to be different from now on. He's had 30 years to sow his wild oats in the Army and now it's my turn. And it'll be done on my terms. All these years, he's been an unknowing cuckold. Not any more."

"What are you planning?" he wrote.

"I've got a letter I'm going to have Leslie give him," she said. "I told him in the letter that he needs to meet me in the lobby of the Ambassador when we get back. That's where I'll have him served with the papers. He'll be so distraught he'll do anything to avoid divorce. I'll take him to my room and hand him the post-nuptial. He'll have a choice -- either agree to my terms or face ruin in a divorce."

"Damn," Trey said. "You're cold. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"LOL," she wrote back.

"So, what are you using for grounds?" he asked.

"Adultery," she said. "And I'll have him dead to rights, complete with video. I've already talked to Leslie. She's had the hots for him for a long time. It was really pretty easy to do. I told Rick in the letter that I give him a hall pass to fuck her brains out for the six weeks we're gone. What he doesn't know is that I've had the house wired for sound and video. And I've got a PI following his every move. His goose is cooked. He just doesn't know it yet. On top of that, my lawyer says I can sue Leslie for alienation of affection if I want to. So not only will I get half of Rick's military retirement, I'll get the house, half of all our assets AND I can stand to ruin Leslie and her husband financially. So, it'll be in his best interest to go along with what I want."

"Damn. You think he'll actually go for that?"

"He won't have a choice," she said. "I already told him in the letter he can either take me back or walk away. I doubt he'll walk away."

"What if he does?" Trey asked.

"That'll be his loss," she said.

"You said he's been an unknowing cuckold," Trey wrote back. "How long have you been cheating on him?"

"Years," she said. "It started when he was in Korea for a year. I moved the kids back home and started at the hospital. That was back when they were doing renovations. I had to park at the Red Roof Inn, like a lot of others, and I found I could go in an hour or two ahead of my schedule, meet up with another nurse, and still have enough time to clean up and go to work. Of course, I had to stop after he came home." Finally, I thought. After all these years, I know the truth.

"And he never suspected?" Trey asked.

"Well, we did get together in Hawaii at the middle of the year, and I think he suspected something was going on," she wrote. "It caused a really big stink, let me tell you. But I was able to get us past it. That's why I know I can do it this time as well. The only difference is that he'll know what I've been doing."

"You're taking one hell of a risk," Trey said. That was the first and probably only thing I would ever agree with him on.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," she said.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," he said.

"Don't worry," she answered. "I've got it all under control." That was the final email in the thread, thank goodness. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. I printed out the email thread and put it in a folder.

By then, the locksmith had finished up his work and handed me three new sets of keys. I paid him for his work and gave him an extra $50 for coming out after hours. After he left, I decided to do the same. I shut the computer down, then went upstairs to change.

From there, I went out for a burger and a beer, stopping at a convenience store for some cigars. I hadn't smoked since I was in the Army, and I felt like I needed something to keep me from punching someone's lights out.

I couldn't help but notice a dark SUV following me. Whoever it was had been on my tail since I left the cul-de-sac. I didn't recognize the driver's face, but I did make note of the license plate and figured it was the PI Marcy hired. I gave him the runaround, hoping to lose him, but he managed to stay on my tail. When I pulled into Yancy's Bar and Grill, he pulled in as well.