Cheating At Cards Ch. 02

The place was empty, but I found a note on the kitchen table. It told me that he'd gone to watch the team he supported play against Plymouth Argyle; that he'd probably be having a 'couple of pints' afterwards, and then asked if I fancied going out for a meal. It was all so mundane, so conventional, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened!

Once again, I felt my anger rising but, this time, I felt remarkably clear-headed when I decided what to do. It was just a little after three, and I knew he wouldn't be home before seven, so I had plenty of time to make my preparations. After turning the heating up and making myself a coffee, I grabbed his laptop, opened it, and tried to begin my investigations.

I was far from being any kind of genius with computers, even though I regularly use them at work, but I knew that Geoffrey was even less computer literate than I was. At first, it was a bit strange because the 'Macs' used in school were different from the Microsoft browser he used, but I got the hang of it fairly quickly. The first thing I had to do was to work out his password and that couldn't have been easier -- it was simply 'decorator,' the trade he'd taken when he first left school.

Then I went straight for his saved favourites -- which revealed a great deal. Apart from a few about sport, some on building materials and a couple of humorous sites, the rest were all very similar -- and I couldn't believe how many there were! The words that introduced them were things like: 'cheating wives,' 'slut wives,' 'wife sharing' and 'hotwife;' but his browsing history showed that the most common search was for 'wife watching.' I even found a survey of some kind that claimed 'most' men have these kinds of fantasies.

It didn't take long to see that it was nothing short of an obsession. I opened a few of the stories, skim read them, and found that (apart from appalling errors in spelling and grammar, and an abysmal lack of knowledge about anatomy!), they were all pretty much the same. The pattern was: Husband and wife introduce fantasy to their lovemaking to 'spice things up a bit;' which works for a while. Then hubby broaches the subject of wife making it a reality -- even though he 'loves' her. Wife is shocked and refuses at first, then eventually gets turned on by the idea and capitulates. Much to his amazement and joy she becomes a 'slut' (I've never liked that word), and they live happily ever after.

This may sound a strange thing to say, but the truth is that a lot of my anger drained away; I just felt very, very sad. I knew that, if this was what he wanted -- and it really was so important to him -- then there was no future for us. I reflected on our lives together and wondered how long he'd been keeping this secret. Certainly, it had been for as long as he'd had the computer, because the history showed he'd been searching for these stories for all of those three years. Had it always been in his mind, I wondered? Had it been there when we were first married? Had it been there even when we were saying "Forsaking all others?" on our wedding day?

The anger was returning and I welcomed it. I needed the feeling of it to sustain me and keep me strong. Without really thinking about it, I went through the contacts on my mobile phone (teachers are rarely, if ever, to be found in the phone book because it invites abusive calls from both pupils and parents), until I found the one I was looking for. It rang quite a few times and I was almost ready to give it up as a bad idea, when I heard Alexa's voice say:

"Hi, Patsy. Sorry about that! I'm trawling the shops looking for something to wear tonight. What can I do for you?"

"Well... It's about the night out, actually," I told her hesitantly, "I mean... I don't want to be a burden or anything... but Geoff's got something on and I just wondered if...."

"You mean you'd like to come with us? Oh... that's brilliant, Patsy! There's just the three of us tonight and we'd love to have you along! Please say you'll come... we're meeting up at the Regency bar at seven and...."

"You're sure it's okay?" I was getting cold feet already. I'd half-expected her to say that she had a date -- or even half-hoped, I suppose. But Alexa blew away any hesitations or doubts:

"Of course it is! I'll see you there! Look... I've got to go... there's a sale on at 'Next!' I'll see you at seven!" The phone went dead and I think I just sat, with the phone still pressed to my ear, for a good while as I wondered what on earth I thought I was doing.

I'd been asked, many times, to join Alexa and her friends on their nights out but I'd always turned them down because, as I said at the beginning, Geoffrey always appeared to be a home-loving man and I was content to spend my evenings with him. From what I'd heard, Alexa and her friend Susan could get a bit wild sometimes, but the other two who normally went with them were happily married and just went along for the sake of an evening out.

After I'd had my second shower of the day I began to search for something suitable to wear. Most of my nights out were fairly formal -- concerned with either my work or Geoffrey's -- and neither the outfits I had for those, nor the stuff I wear for school, seemed appropriate for an evening of clubbing with Alexa and her pals. I wanted to look reasonably attractive -- but certainly not 'slutty' (that word again!) -- I certainly didn't want to tease anyone too much or raise any false expectations. Some low-level flirting wasn't entirely beyond reason but I'd already decided that sex -- with anyone - was out of the question until I'd been tested for any possible infections.

Eventually, I settled on a black V-neck jumper that was far from revealing, a fairly plain black skirt that came to just an inch or two above knee-level, with black tights (I think that's 'pantyhose' to American readers) and black shoes with heels that weren't too high to be uncomfortable. My underwear, for those who seem to like such details, was plain and black -- nothing special.

As I brushed my hair and applied some make up, I tried to get it clear in my mind exactly what I was trying to achieve. The ultimate aim was to get Geoffrey -- of his free will -- to tell me exactly what had been going on at his card-playing nights. My plan, if it deserved such a name, was to mess with his head enough to provoke him into doing that.

I was still so unsure of myself that I actually rang my mum and told her what I was doing. She had a few doubts about it, but she understood and just warned me to be careful -- especially when I told her the names of the two married women who normally went on these nights out.

"You may find they're not quite as innocent as they appear to be," she informed me, adding, "but it's not my place to say."

To be honest, that didn't help at all, but I couldn't press her any further. My nerves were getting to me and I was almost on the point of calling the whole thing off. In fact, I might have done so, if there hadn't been the beeping of a horn from outside to announce the arrival of the taxi I'd ordered.

I quickly went to the door, called out that I'd just be a minute, then returned to the kitchen and picked up the note my husband had left.

Underneath the bit about having a meal out tonight (followed by the scribbled 'G' and the row of X's), I scribbled:

"I've made other arrangements. Don't wait up!"