After twenty years of marriage, you can read the signs. Cynthia was preoccupied much of the time. She had to work late a several times a month. Her interest in her family seemed perfunctory, at best. I had hoped it was a phase, a chemical, or hormonal thing women go through. After a few months of hoping, I decided it was time to learn the truth, regardless of the pain that went with it.
The agency came very highly recommended. They were thorough, discreet, and very professional. I met with a manager for an hour and told him my fears and suspicions. Then I gave him a pretty good chunk of cash I had stashed away over the years.
Originally, I was saving the money on the side to take Cynthia on a nice vacation for our twentieth anniversary. That was before the nagging doubts surfaced. Now I was spending the money on detectives to follow Cynthia and report any "inappropriate activity" back to me.
'Inappropriate' encompasses such a wide range of activities. The truth was I wanted to know if she was having an affair, and the agency understood that was what I wanted to know. We used euphemisms because it was less embarrassing, but we all knew the deal.
"I have to work late tonight, Gil. Feed the girls and don't wait up for me, okay?" blurted Cynthia as she headed for the door. I dropped my spoon into the cereal and then dropped a bomb in her lap.
"You can make me believe it is work when you do it with me, Cynthia, but I think it is anything but work when you stay out late and do it. Or do you get paid for it?" I asked calmly.
Cynthia stopped dead in her tracks. She stood with her back to me for the count of ten and then she slowly turned around. Her face was unreadable. That would have been more proof, if I had needed it. An innocent woman would have spun around madder than hell.
'Just what are you saying, Gil? Are you suggesting something?" she asked.
"Well, yeah! If it is work you are doing, you should get paid for it. We could buy a new car if you had been charging," I replied.
"For what, exactly, should I be charging?" she countered.
It was the old 'admit nothing till the other guy shows all of his cards gambit' she had mastered over the years. I had played a few of those games and my cards were going to be slow in turning.
"I would fully expect you would know better than I, Darling. Do you want me to draw up a price list so you know what to charge?" I shot back. "I guess a hand-job could be $25, a blow-job about $50, standard sex $100 and anal could be $150. I never actually paid for it, but we have to start somewhere. Want to make any revisions?"
"Have you lost your mind, Gil?" snarled Cynthia. "Do you think I am walking the downtown streets when I work late? You need to get some help. That was a really cruel thing to say."
"Are you telling me you are not going to have sex tonight?" I asked bluntly.
"That's for goddamn certain, not after the way you just spoke to me, asshole!" retorted Cynthia. "Not tonight and not the foreseeable future."
"That's good to hear, Cynthia. There is no reason for you to come home late then, is there?" I reasoned. "As long as you are taking the night off, you can be home at a decent hour. I'll make dinner and you can help clean up afterward."
Cynthia just stood there, mouth open but no words forming. Then she turned and left.
I was taking the roast chicken out of the oven when Cynthia entered the kitchen. One glance at her told me she had a change of heart.
"I guess I have been working late quite a bit lately. You and the girls deserve more attention, Gil," Cynthia admitted. "I am taking you up on your offer. It sure smells good."
Cynthia was a very attractive 42-year old woman. Time had only improved her curves. She looked great and when she was in the right mood, a lot of fun. That was the first 21 years of our marriage. It was only the past six months that she had become distant and aloof. Before that she had been a wonderful friend, lover, and companion. That was what really made the present situation so difficult.
We had a pleasant dinner, as a family. As I listened to our two daughters talk with their mother, I realized how much she meant to them. They loved their dad, but they shared things with their mother a man can't really understand. Shopping is much like water torture. Talking about shopping is more agony than a man should be expected to endure. The three of them managed it throughout the entire meal!
When we went to bed that night, Cynthia slid in with only her panties on. That had always been a signal that she was looking for a little love. The thing was, I wasn't even close to being in the mood.
"I thought you said you weren't going to have sex tonight," I reminded her. "You told me not in the foreseeable future, either, as I recall."
"You were behaving so oddly this morning. Your comments were less than kind and I got angry," Cynthia confessed. "I thought about it and realized it was probably frustration on your part. We haven't had the time to be intimate in a while. That is at least partly my fault, Gil. I don't want you to think I don't love you."
"Then you do love me, Cynthia?" I asked. "It has been three weeks, two days since we made love. It didn't seem to bother you."
"Wow! You have been keeping track? I didn't realize it has been so long, but I will make it up to you tonight, okay?" she smiled.
"Are you saying you do love me, Cynthia?" I repeated.
"Of course I do! You are the only man I have ever loved, or ever will," avowed Cynthia. "You know that."
"Would it be reasonable to think that if you loved me you would be faithful to me, totally?" I continued.
"Absolutely, Sweetheart," she answered. "Why are you asking these questions? You seemed to suggest this morning that I was having sex with someone, and it sounds like you are again tonight."
"You are totally faithful to me, Cynthia. You like being married to me and don't want to play the field?" I pressed.
