Everybody knows Mondays suck.
So it was with no great enthusiasm when I picked up the phone at my place of employment at 8:05 a.m., responding to a page from our receptionist, Jeannie, that a Mrs. Spearman was on line one. I didn't know a Mrs. Spearman, so a call this early in the day was either a complaint or cold call for sales.
"Mr. Ringler, you don't know me, but I am married to the man who is fucking your wife, and I have a proposition for you."
Oh fuck ...
She went on a little further before she realized that I had completely tuned out. I had stopped listening after the magic words "man fucking your wife."
"Mr. Ringler, are you still there?"
"Yes, ma'am ... I'm sorry ... You kind of stunned me there for a second. You did say your husband was fucking my wife, right?"
"I'm sorry to be so blunt about it, Mr. Ringler, but there's no other way to put it. Your wife is having an affair with her boss, who happens to be my husband. I want it to stop, but I also want my revenge, and this is where you come in. I have a little proposition for you, if you're willing to listen."
"Right, Spearman ... her boss. Now I know who you are. We meet every year at the Christmas party ...
"And apparently our spouses meet several times a week for their own party."
"Ok, but this is not the time nor place for this. Can we meet for lunch today?"
We set lunch for noon at Choosey's, kind of a high-end sandwich place about 20 minutes from my office, and for the next few hours I sat at my desk like a barely functioning robot, with the world going past me at about 100 miles per hour.
My wife, Traci, was the light of my life. Short but athletically built with 40DD tits, she was more beautiful at 46 than when I married her at 22. We had raised a beautiful pair of daughters together, one out on her own now and the younger a junior in college a couple of states over. Being empty-nesters again for the last three years was fun, and while our sex life was good while the kids were growing up, with an empty house again it had gotten even better as we didn't have to hold anything back. Not to brag, but let's just say Traci having a screaming orgasm was a regular occurrence, one I took great pride in making happen.
I thought things couldn't get any better ... until today. Talk about your clueless dope.
Mrs. Spearman - Lorraine - was a fine-looking woman of about 40, taller and thinner than Traci with long legs and C-cup boobs. I had met her several times through the years at the various Christmas parties and outings her husband's company had put on in Traci's 14 years there. I was already seated at a booth when she walked in wearing a thin black blouse obviously braless and a thigh-high black leather skirt. Several heads turned her way as she spotted me and made her way to my table. I rose when she approached the table, and didn't sit again until she was seated.
"Ah, a gentleman. I like that," she said with a twinkle in her bright blues eyes.
When we were both seated, she got right down to business. She handed me the file she was carrying, and cautioned me I might want to open that carefully in the restaurant. I took a quick scan and saw Traci - my Traci - engaged in several sexual acts with her husband, apparently in different locations and at different times. I was gone again, but Lorraine brought me back by reaching out and touching my right hand with her left.
"You can look at the photos better when you leave here, and be sure to read the reports of my investigator as well, Bob. I paid good money for that information, and you really need to read it carefully," she said with a deathly serious look on her pretty face.
"The Reader's Digest version is that your wife and my husband have been having an illicit affair for about two years. They've used several locations around the city for their trysts, have gone on several 'business trips' together, and have even used your house and my house for their shenanigans."
"Shenanigans? Who uses words like that?" I thought to myself, but as I looked up at Lorraine, she was starting to cry. I resisted the urge to make a bad joke.
"Arvin and I have been married for 20 years," she continued. "I thought we were going to be married forever. This is absolutely the last thing I ever expected."
"That makes two of us. I thought we were rock solid up until you ruined my day," I said while looking at my hands. "So what do we do now? What is this proposition you want to talk to me about?"
"I know this is shocking to you right now, but I've been dealing with this for about six months now," Lorraine said. "Arvin made the slightest slip-up, and while I didn't think much of it at first, it kept gnawing at me, and when I finally decided to check it out, I found out the whole thing. So I've already gone through the shock, the hurt, the pain, the anger that you will get to in good time. And right now I'm at revenge. I'm mad as hell, and I want that bastard to pay, but not just in alimony. I want my pound of flesh, and I want it bad."