Paint Cheaters with the Same Brush

Hi; I'm Megan. Gerald Boyton, my husband at the start of the most relevant part of this story, was only the second love of my life.

My first love was Johnny James; when I was nine years old. Johnny was one of the rich kids in our predominately middle class school but he didn't act like it. He was kind to everyone and had a sparkly personality. We exchanged pecks on the cheek when we were ten, and swore our undying love to each other. Then disaster struck.

Johnny's rich father, George, was arrested for securities fraud and his reputation ruined. Everyone started calling him "Jesse James" and taking their cue from their parents the kids at school turned on Johnny and made his life miserable. I suffered too because I stuck by Johnny no matter what, eventually becoming his only friend.

Johnny seemed to handle things pretty well until his mother -- "an uppity socialite" according to my parents -- couldn't take the humiliation and committed suicide. With his father in jail and his mother dead, Johnny went to live with his mother's younger sister and her husband thousands of miles away. Both Johnny and I cried as we hugged and then I waved goodbye the Saturday morning he drove away with his Aunt and Uncle, knowing that we likely would never see each other again.

It took me the longest time to get over my silly puppy love, but I did actively date late in High School, all through college, and afterwards. I never met anyone who floated my boat, and often thought of Johnny even when an adult, until at age twenty five I met Gerald Boyton. Gerald was my dream guy -- we instantly fell in love and were married four months after our first date, and I forgot all about Johnny for the first time..

When I married Gerald Boyton he was an aspiring T V reporter. He always dressed neatly and groomed properly because he felt that was necessary in order to impress some station executive somewhere to get his dream job. For the first two years of marriage we had it fairly rough economically because Gerald couldn't seem to get a job in his field, but wouldn't accept "getting his hands dirty" doing something else, so we got by primarily on my salary as a legal secretary.

Although we were not well off financially, we were happy with our relationship. Sex was frequent and intense, and we both seemed to find it important to be sure that the other party was well satisfied. Though blow jobs are not my favorite Gerald really liked them so I did my best to please him. While he never complained I don't think that eating pussy was his favorite either, but if I ever hinted at it he went at it vigorously. We both really liked doggy fucking best, however, and engaged in that activity at least three times a week.

When YouTube first started in 2005 Gerald seized upon that as his entrée into his chosen profession. He immediately started doing local news items -- some of which he scripted -- and put them on YouTube and would have friends email them to the local TV stations. One of the scripted ones got him noticed.

I'm not sure exactly how he talked me into it -- probably promising to eat me out every day for a week, and then fuck me doggy after I had an oral orgasm -- but I became the subject of his first success in reporting. I pretended to be a wild woman who lived in a local forest preserve. I put paint on my face and around my boobs, and wore a scraggly blond wig, so that I would not be easily recognized. My boobs would certainly draw attention to me, however, since I am well endowed. I only wore a loin cloth and sandals.

On several different occasions I would go from the forest into the yards of neighbors in the high class housing development bordering one edge of the forest. I shocked many a homeowner; the men smiled, the women were outraged. I tried as best I could not to be seen by children and was usually successful. Gerald filmed some of my escapades, and did brief interviews with a number of homeowners, who had all different takes on the situation.

After three weekends of my stealth mostly-naked activity, Gerald scripted "catching" and interviewing me. At that point, I had run out of the fluorescent orange body paint that I had used previously for circling my boobs, but I found a spray can of regular paint almost the same color and used that. Fortunately I had enough red face paint.

With a buddy acting as a cameraman Gerald "just happened" to come across me as I snuck into a homeowner's back yard, and pretending to be famished ate some tomatoes from his garden, leaving big red blotches on my face which disguised me even more. I ran when Gerald and his cameraman approached, but pretended to stumble in the woods, and held my ankle as he caught up with me.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Wild Woman," he said earnestly while approaching me with open hands.

"Grunt..." was my guttural response.

"May I offer you some candy?" he continued, pulling a Snickers bar out of his pocket. "Go ahead, take it," he plead.

After some hesitation, I reached for it, grabbed it from him, and shoved it into my mouth without removing the wrapper, then went "Pfft," spitting it out.

"No, no, you need to remove the wrapper," Gerald said, turning toward the camera and giving a devilish smile. He picked the Snickers bar off the ground, unwrapped it, and handed it back to me. I again hesitantly accepted it, then shoved the entire thing into my mouth and quickly chewed and swallowed it.

"More; Sheila want more," I said, sounding like a female Tarzan.

"Sheila -- is that your name?" Gerald asked, pulling another Snickers bar out of another pocket. I nodded. "Sheila, if you answer some questions, I'll give you this bar too," he continued, unwrapping part of the bar. I reached for it and he pulled it away saying "First questions, Sheila."

"Ugh," I replied, using my hands to push myself up into a standing position leaning against a tree, with my big boobs bouncing as I rose, and highly visible to the cameraman.

"Where do you live, Sheila?"

"Sheila with trees," I mumbled.

"Why do you dress like you do, Sheila?"

"Sheila, nature, at one," I grunted.

"Why don't you wear a top to cover your chest?"

"Men like seeing Sheila top; give treats when see Sheila; you give Sheila treats looking at top?" I replied trying as hard as possible not to laugh. Then I pretended to wince.

"Is your leg hurt Sheila?"

"Sheila hurt," I said, lifting up my leg to grab my fake-hurt ankle.

"Let me look at it," Gerald said, holding out the candy bar.

I grabbed the Snickers bar, sat back down, and extended my leg to Gerald as I thrust the candy into my mouth and chewed it in an exaggerated manner. Gerald produced an Ace bandage from yet another pocket, hoping that viewers would not see how strange it was that he was so prepared for his encounter with me, and then wrapped my ankle.

Just then a siren screamed in the background -- the cameraman was playing a tape of a police car rushing to an accident. I jumped up and started running, still pretending to nurse my bandaged ankle, and disappeared as Gerald called out "When can we meet again, Sheila, I have more questions?"

As my ass disappeared in the distance, Gerald turned to the camera and very professionally deadpanned, "Strange goings on in the local forest preserve. Hopefully we haven't scared Wild Woman Sheila away, but you can be sure that being a red-blooded American man that I'll be following up on this story until conclusion. Signing off, public interest reporter Gerald Boyton, www gb at ---- dot net."

At the place in the forest where I had left my clothes I quickly removed my face paint with a washcloth and cold cream, threw my wig and the rag in a bag, pulled my jeans over my loin cloth and a conservative shirt over my chest, and met Gerald and the cameraman at the designated location. Gerald had already uploaded the video to YouTube. The three of us were giddy, pleased with ourselves and how everything had come off, including because at least four people were watching the interview and Gerald got their reactions on video afterward.

By the time that we got home -- despite the fact that this was at the very inception of YouTube, before Google owned it -- we had gotten over 4,000 hits. When we saw that Gerald attacked me and fucked me right on our cheap kitchen table, causing it to collapse without hurting us, but actually enhancing our mutual orgasms!

There was one drawback. The paint that I had used on my chest did not come off like the body or face paint had. It was also on sensitive areas. Despite the use of many different chemicals, rubbing, and washing, it never came off until the dead skin cells sloughed off. My body didn't return to its normal condition for more than two months, ruining my ability to wear a bikini the entire summer.

I gladly accepted the problem of the fluorescent orange paint surrounding my boobs, however, since two days after the YouTube video was posted Gerald got an email from local TV station WXXX. He had an interview two days later, and nabbed a position as a public interest reporter within a week. We were thrilled.

Things got a lot better for us financially after that. Gerald quickly moved up the professional ladder once he was given a chance and by the beginning of 2012 he had one of the anchor positions for the TV show "Morning's Light News," a local program roughly similar to the "Today" network show.

Something else happened shortly after Gerald got one of the anchor positions. The TV station was sold to a shell corporation. The rumor was that the shell corporation was owned by a famous businessman, Jonathan Stinchcomb; but no one knew for sure. Jonathan Stinchcomb was considered the most publicity-adverse rich person in the world. Although reportedly worth billions he showed himself less than Howard Hughes used to, and because he so valued his privacy and could afford to hire the best lawyers and accountants there was almost no way to trace the sale to him.

Almost immediately after the sale "Morning's Light News" got a new weather-woman, a bimbo named -- believe it or not -- Barbie Mann.

Barbie was not only horrible in front of the camera and had the brains and maturity of a pre-teen (sorry to insult you, pre-teens), but she was a total bitch. She expected others to do her bidding and pamper her. I remember the first few days that she was on the set when Gerald came home he vented for hours about how terrible she was.

"Why don't you complain to Jim, the station manager?" I curtly asked when I got sick of hearing about it.

"I did; he said that it was beyond his control, that he was told by the new upper management that she was there so deal with it," Gerald replied with an exasperated look.

The ratings for "Morning's Light News" didn't change after Barbie came on board, but the demographics sure did. The show -- as best as can be determined from surveys -- lost 5-10% of their serious viewers (if there is such a thing for something called "Light News") but gained an almost equal number of male viewers, many young, but some not so young. Oh, did I forget to mention that Barbie was beautiful and buxom, though in a trashy sort of way? She always wore revealing outfits and never wore her wedding or engagement rings on the air.

________________

While Gerald was happy as co-anchor of his own show, his hours did put a strain on our relationship. Since even with flex-time I couldn't really start my legal secretary's job earlier than 8 a.m., and I worked until 4 p.m., and since he got off work around noon, on weekdays we missed each other except for from about 4:40 p.m. until 9 p.m., when he had to go to bed to get up at 4:00 a.m. so that he could be on the air at 5:00 a.m. Fortunately we both usually had Saturday and Sunday off so even though we had less (in quantity and quality) sex than before during the week, on the weekends we still really got it on.

Two other things gradually happened after Gerald got the co-anchor job. Gerald started to get a little testy with people he came into contact with -- although not with me or I would have bitch-slapped him -- kinda acting like he was a hot shit. Also, after Barbie had been "on board" for about two months Gerald no longer complained about her, even though -- as far as I could tell from occasional discussions with Gerald's co-workers and a sporadic look at the show while getting dressed for work -- she was as big a bitch as ever, and still horrible at her job. In fact Gerald even defended her once when a co-worker made some crack about her in my presence.

I never met Barbie until there was a party for all of the T. V. station, and its sister radio station, employees about six months after Barbie started work. The party celebrated some award the radio station got for technical proficiency, and a local Emmy-type award for one of Gerald's show's human interest reporters. The party was held at a mansion, supposedly rented-out for the occasion.

At the party Barbie acted like she owned the place -- we never were actually told who did own it. She treated all of the servers like shit, and was rude to many of the guests, except for Jim, Gerald, Gerald's co-anchor, Julia, and a few others who she apparently considered her "equals," or at least worth talking to. She was even condescending to the reporter who had gotten the local Emmy-type award. I did notice that at the party she was wearing her wedding and engagement rings.

Coming out of the washroom I saw -- without being seen -- one young waiter get cursed out by Barbie, and heard him mumble under his breath "I'm soon gonna be gone from that bitch but will clue-in the ole' man before I take off."

I approached the scorned waiter and in as nice a voice as possible asked "Excuse me sir, could you tell me where I could get a glass of white wine?"

"Oh, ah, sure..." he stammered since he obviously hadn't realized that I was there and probably wondered how much of what was said I heard. "Let me go into the next room and get one for you," he continued, slightly red-faced.

"No, if it's in the next room I'll just get it myself," I said, lightly touching his arm. He nodded and then tried to smile.

"I know it is none of my business, but I'm going to ask anyway because I can tell that you're a nice and hard-working guy. Why did you let that bitch, Barbie, talk to you like that? She's just a station employee, not in charge, and she had no reason to talk to you like that even if she was," I continued, still gently holding his arm.

"I'm really sorry you had to hear that ma'am," he mumbled.

"I'm not a 'ma'am," I giggled; "my name is Megan," I beamed, extending my hand.

"Mine's Will," he said, shaking my hand and forcing a smile.

"So Will, let me tell you something about me. I'm a legal secretary for the managing partner at the second biggest firm in this city, and I am a paragon of virtue..." I laughed when he got a quizzical look on his face. "That didn't come out right," I cackled through my laughter. "What I meant to say is that I'm as good at keeping a secret as anyone you've ever met. But I'm also as curious as anyone you've ever met. Please tell me why you put up with her shit!"

"You promise not to tell anyone -- especially anyone at the stations?" he asked while furtively looking around to be sure no one else was there.

"I swear," I said, turning serious.

"She's the lady of this house and I'm one of the regular servants -- at least for now, although I need to get another job because I can't stand her bitchiness and cheating," he said firmly but softly.

"Who owns this mansion?" was my stunned reply.

"Mr. Jonathan Stinchcomb, her husband and the owner of the TV and radio stations hosting this party -- along with many, many other businesses," he retorted in hushed tones.

Things were getting clear, now.

"Is he here?" I asked, looking around myself.

"No he's in Australia or Japan, or someplace. Even though I've worked here since he bought this mansion more than six months ago I've only seen him twice," he muttered.

"What does he look like?" I excitedly asked.

"Uh -- sorry Megan, but I signed a confidentiality agreement never to tell anyone about him, what he looks like, or where he is -- I probably violated just telling you that he was somewhere halfway around the world, but I can't say more."

"I understand," I said smiling, "no worries."

However, I was not going to let what he said about Barbie pass.

"Listen, Will, I know about Barbie's bitchiness, but you also said her cheating bothered you -- what did you mean by her 'cheating?'" I asked, holding his arm again.

"Uh, I'm sorry Megan, but I've already said too much; please don't tell anyone," he replied, again furtively looking around.

"I told you that I wouldn't and I won't; but I'm not letting you off the hook. Tell you what, I can help you get a better job with the connections I have at my law office, and you can help me out by telling me what you know. Here's my card, Will. I insist that you call me Monday and we can meet for breakfast or lunch, whatever your schedule allows."

Will took my card and shoved it into a pocket. "Maybe..." he started to say when I interrupted him.

"Not 'maybe,' Will; if you don't call me I'll show up back here and ask the head butler for you," I snickered, then smiled.

After a pause he said "OK," this time with an actual, rather than forced, smile. We went our separate ways.

After I left him I tried to figure out why I was so insistent about finding out what he was talking about by "cheating." The reasons that leapt immediately to my mind were the over-developed curiosity I had had ever since I was a kid, and perhaps getting some sort of goods on Barbie that Jim, Gerald, or others at the station could use to get rid of her. I tried to push to the back of my mind what was probably my real motivation, however, because I didn't want to face that!

Will did call me on Monday and his schedule allowed us to meet for breakfast on Tuesday, so we did -- at the type of restaurant that Barbie would never been seen dead in. After initial pleasantries and my re-assurance of confidentiality, between bites of pancake and spoons-full of yogurt I started my interrogation.

"OK, Will, give. What does Barbie cheat on?"

"Can you really help me get a new job?" he earnestly asked.

"I've already talked to my boss. He's one of the 'fixers' in this town. He knows everyone here and at our satellite office five hundred miles away. He can get you almost any type of job you want," I said earnestly. Then with a giggle I added "within reason!"

"She had someone over to the house for sex about three times a week," he said.

"What!" I said, too loudly, then lowered my voice once people in the diner stopped looking at me. "When and where?"

"Usually it's Monday, Wednesday and Friday from about 12:30 p.m. until about three in the afternoon, but only when Mr. Stinchcomb is actually out of town, even though he is never here during the day."

"Are you sure it's for sex?" I asked, still a little stunned.

"I'm sure. While they pretend to be working, I've walked past -- and even peeked into -- the room that they use, and they're definitely having sex. I really don't want to be more graphic about what I've seen."

"Is it one of the bedrooms?" I inquired.

"No, that would be too obvious. It is in the study. I've seen them use the couch, or with her bent over the desk."

"Does anyone else know about this except you?"

"No one actually 'knows,' but I think others suspect. I've never said anything to anyone except you, though, and all of the other servants have been instructed not to even go into the wing of the house when her fuck buddy is over and they're all afraid of Barbie so they don't. To my knowledge, I'm the only one who has," Will said, seemingly getting bolder as he told the tale.