I went home that night in a foul mood. I caught every red light possible, every moron who's ever driven a car in his life was in my way and I had decided that the stuff people talk about in LitErotica stories about wiring up their houses for video and audio and all that were horse shit. I'd paid a visit to Frys Electronics on the way home and that shit is expensive. Also, it requires wiring and computer skills I don't have. I didn't have a clue how to wire up a phone intercept, and even if I did, it wouldn't do us any good since we don't have a land line any more -- just mobiles.

Sure, it would be a stroll in the park for Solomon, but he wasn't there. I was.

Besides, from what Crystal had told me, Deanna was careful to keep it out of our house. About the only thing I'd get good footage of would be me taking a crap and the kids stashing plastic bugs in our bed at night. That was a favorite of theirs -- stashing bugs in our bed and scaring the crap out one of us when we pulled back the covers. Little shits. I wonder where they got that idea from? Hehehhe.

I parked in my little garage and before I went inside I looked at the boxes I had bought at Frys. They were little voice recorders that were voice activated. The stories on Lit make it look so easy, but looking at these things, they could only record a hundred files at a time, which meant hundred different voice activated incidents, before they were full. That meant I'd need to be recovering them and grabbing the data off them constantly. Ah well. Being James Bond was never going to be easy. I did look good in a Tux though, even if it was rumpled. That little crack from Crystal still rankled. Mainly because it was true.

I went inside and the kids were running around, making more noise than it should be possible for such small packages to make, balanced against the TV which was blaring out the Odd Family, with it's grating and irritating voices. Paula came and gave me an embarrassed kiss -- she was just at that age where romantic idea's were raising their heads, hormones were everywhere and I was, naturally -- and rightly so -, gross.

I nodded at Deanna, who was in the kitchen, sorting through large piles of Chinese food packages. She nodded back and yelled, "Good day?"

"Probably not as good as yours," I screamed back, without a trace of irony.

"Kids, turn off the TV," bellowed Deanna. That got her a chorus of "awww, moooommmmm" before the kids actually did it. Suddenly the noise quotient dropped fifty percent.

I said to Deanna, "I need to go shower. Long day and it's humid out there," and she nodded absently mindedly, while sorting the food containers.

"Don't be long, dinner is almost ready," she replied.

I went upstairs and marveled at how calm and collected she was. No hint of what was going on during her day. No difference in her demeanor. She was a world-class actor, there was no doubt of that. That or she had some serious schizophrenic issues.

I took a very fast shower, just in and out, then looked around at where to stash the first of the three voice recorders I had bought. In the end, I taped it to the underside of her bedside cabinet. I didn't really expect to get anything from the recorders at home, but I wanted to be thorough.

After that, I got dressed in sweats, went downstairs and had dinner. It was the usual rambunctious affair, with three children competing for our attention. After dinner was done and the things tidied up -- and I had managed to plant another recorder in the kitchen, under the bottom of the high counters - Deanna came and plonked herself in my lap.

She game me that special smile, and the noise we made to indicate that dessert was on the menu, if you know what I mean. She whispered in my ear, "You've been home two days and we've not seen each other. Lets send the rabble to bed early and go snuggle down ourselves."

Looking at her, I saw her so differently now. She was offering me a mercy fuck, after probably spending the day in bed with her lover. It wasn't because she wanted to, it was because she thought she had to. It was all I could do to keep dinner down, to be honest, but I nodded weakly.

Then she produced a little package from the coffee table and said, "Tada! Small gift. I saw it and thought of you."

Well, this was weird. What was I to make of this? I opened it and found one of those GPS based running watches -- the ones that are designed for runners and which record heart rate and so on. It came complete with a small insert you put in your shoe to count footsteps.

I looked back at her, and she was looking at me, all expectant. She said, "I thought of you on the bike thing you are doing with Simon now. I thought it would be cool to track all that stuff."

While I looked at her, everything came into focus. My entire life with her, the kids, our day to day life. It was all a lie. Well, it wasn't, but it was less than fifty percent of what she thought it should be. Our lives together were based on routine, rote and unfeeling expectations.

She'd bought me a present. That was nice, no denying it. But what she'd bought me had zero thought put into it -- I already had a tracker for my bike -- my iPhone. Deanna had been with me when I'd bought the mount for it. She hadn't been paying attention and was on the phone in the store, but she was there, and I had been exuberant about getting this thing in the car all the way home. She just wasn't listening -- in one ear and out the other. She had absolutely no interest in what I was doing, beyond being pleased at the concept that I was doing something to stay healthy.

I suddenly realized all the times I'd tried to engage her on the subject, to get minimal attention -- of the kind where you nod and just say things like "hmmm, yes," trying to give the impression of attention when you have none. And the other person just burbles on happily, full of the joy of the purchase and thinking about usage cases, not even really noticing that you couldn't give a rats ass.

What's more, this device was for runners. Bikers couldn't use it -- apart from the GPS part, the idea was to track footfalls. There aren't any when you bike. Sure, I could use some portion of the facilities of this thing, but honestly, the iPhone did it better than this device ever would.

And if she'd asked someone, spent more than 30 seconds in the store and looked around, she'd know. But she didn't. That was our marriage in a nutshell. Do the least amount possible with a smile and get your jollies elsewhere.

I had to balance that with the thought that it had even occurred to her to buy me a gift in the first place, but all I could see was guilt. I know I probably wasn't being fair, but that's what I saw. She was off gallivanting with this guy, I was getting the short end of the stick, so she'd bought me a gift to feel better about it. And the gift itself was totally not thought out, just an off the cuff thing to make her feel better about what she was doing, not for what I wanted at all.

I realized that this had been our life for a couple of years now. I was still trying to keep it alive -- flowers, dinners out, a weekend away. I spent hours trying to get her the right thing for Christmas last year -- agonized over what to get. I went to three malls and went through all their jewelry and in the end bought her a diamond necklace, and also shooting lessons - for her and me. I thought it might be fun for us to do it together. While I paid for them, we did one and never went back. Just never found the time, I guess.

But now I thought about it, she never did that for me. Each year she just demanded an email of links for items on Amazon and that was that. There was no thought. There was no concern. There was the act of the purchase, but I did all the work for her. She didn't think about a gift for me at all. She just clicked the link, put in the credit card info and that was that. Gift giving done.

I was just suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. We were done. All that I had found out came to a head and the realization that she had already internally moved on was there. Love me? Bullshit. She might love me in some way, but the love of her life? He was in some apartment down town. She loved me like... like I loved Paul. OH FUCK.

That realization -- that I was Paul in this marriage -- that just totally pushed me over the edge. I just dissolved into tears. I'm not afraid to admit it. I wept for our marriage, for the fact that it was over. I wept for allowing it to happen, and not even seeing it as it happened. I wept for our children, because divorce was never easy on children -- they'd spend years wondering if it was their fault. And I wept for myself. For being betrayed by someone I trusted with my life.

Deanna was speechless -- she could see some dam had broken, but was clueless about what was going on. Initially she made a joke, saying weakly, "Hey now, it's just a work out device. No need for tears Ryan!"

I just looked at her, bawled some more, and abruptly got up and headed to the bathroom.

"Paula, take the kids up stairs. Watch something in your room. Your father and I need some time," she instructed our eldest, who was watching slack jawed.

Paula gathered up the others, with some complaining from Jamie who was in the middle of playing Lego Starwars on the Xbox.

I could hear Deanna outside the bathroom. I had started to get myself under control and was breathing heavily, just looking at myself in the mirror. How did it get to be this bad? My wife was intent on betraying me and our family in the worst possible way, and what's more, she was getting off on the prospect of being caught. What do you do in that situation? How are you supposed to feel? How are you supposed to react?

Some people would just react out of anger and push back. And on occasion, I felt like that. That there needed to be beatings and pain, so others would know the pain I felt. Other times I just wanted to retreat -- hole up somewhere by myself and retreat from humanity entirely. Obviously it didn't need me to function. Then I thought of my kids, and the pain came from the impact to them, and the realization that no matter what happened, I would never be free of Deanna. She would always be there, as their mother, always reminding me of what she'd done.

I felt trapped. I felt angry. I felt out of control -- not the kind where you want to do damage, although there was some of that, but the kind where your life is happening to you, rather than you making it happen. You are in complete reaction mode and not able to actually effect events, just react to them. I've never felt this way before -- I've been to all intents and purposes a CEO of a midsized company, and I've had to be in control. But now? I didn't know what to do with my life.

All the time I had purpose when I was tracking down the facts, conspiring to trap Crystal and get the details, well, now I had them, and I had to decide what to do.

She had no clue what I knew. I had to make a decision. And like the coward I am, I didn't make one. I just decided I would hold it together and make the decision tomorrow. So I took a bunch more deep breaths, thought frantically for a story to tell my slut wife, and exited the bathroom.

She was hovering outside. "Are you ok, Ryan? This is just...not like you. What's going on?"

"I got some news today. From Simon. One of the guys we bike with has a tumor. I was just getting to know him and enjoy all their company and this happened. He's dying. He has six months at the outside. When you gave me that present, well, it just all came out. It makes me feel for my own mortality, you know?"

It was all utter crap, all absolutely inspired and I couldn't quite believe I was coming out with it. And Deanna bought it. Well why not? She'd been lying to me for weeks -- be nice to get some pay back.

"Oh that's horrible Ryan. Oh my god. Is there anything we can do? I'm so sorry; I didn't mean..." she trailed off.

"I just...need some time, Deanna. I just need to go have a drink somewhere by myself or something."

The inspiration just kept coming. This was great stuff. I was building myself a wall that she wouldn't dream of trying to breach in the short term.

"Of course, Babe. Go, The Mill is open. Go have a beer. Call me when you want to come home, I'll come get you."

"Thanks," I said, giving her my best 'I'll be brave' smile.

And that's how I left it. Before I went to the bar, I stashed another recorder under the front seat of her Town and Country van, then I fled to the Mill Tavern, had a beer, pulled out my phone and called Simon and Solomon. It was time to make plans.

They arrived within half an hour. Solomon was especially interested in the bar; his was not a social existence and this was a new experience for him. He just sat there, looking round with interest at all the other people, the bar maids, the TV's mounted on the wall. I got him a coke, and then Simon arrived, and with it, more beer and suddenly Solomon was understanding what it was that everyone was going on about when it came to that subject. He was suddenly very happy very quickly. I already imagined what I had created here would not end well.

"Right, we are all three here. Simon, this is Solomon. Solomon is very smart and socially inept. That's the right word, isn't it Solomon?"

At this point Solomon was feeling no pain and cheerfully said, "Absolutely. No redeeming social skills what so ever. Wow, she is cute. Look at those tits!"

I couldn't have scripted it better. Simon just stared at me, took a long drink of his beer and looked at Solomon, then he leaned and said, "We aren't going to have to pull him out of a fight, are we?"

"No, I don't think so. Look, I need to fill you in on what I've learned."

Both gave me their full attention as I recapped what I'd done with Solomon, what I'd learned from Crystal, even the whole present thing. At the end I said, "So yeah, Simon, if you get phone calls from Deanna, follow through on the dying comrade ok? Lay it on thick. It enables me to keep away from her in the short term while I am coming to terms with my own mortality."

Simon nodded and said, "You got it, bud."

"So what's next on the Uncle Ryan Personal Plan?" asked Solomon.

"Well, I think we are done. She's just too good to trust any more. She's got this entire other life with this asshole and I have had no hint of it. No hint of unhappiness, no hint of our sex life changing. Nothing. She's just too good at lying and being able to pull the wool over my eyes. Well, that's done and there's a price to be paid for both of them. And I know just want I want to do. They want high-risk sexual activity? I'm -- no, we - are going to give it to them."

I went into the plan I had in mind and both Solomon and Simon sat there, shocked. Then Simon started to laugh and then Solomon did and then I started to chuckle. We all had a good laugh and after we were done, Solomon pointed out something that hadn't even occurred to me. None of it was illegal. Oh, we'd need to go about it in certain illegal ways, but the end result would be one hundred percent legal.

I had no idea how we were going to pull it off, but we were damn well going to try. We spent the rest of the evening talking about how to make it happen, what it would cost, how we would go about it, what each of us would do and generally making plans.

There was a lot that needed to be put in place first though, and I would make a start on that tomorrow, by seeing my lawyer.

I went home that night and thankfully Deanna was already asleep. I'd called and told her Simon was dropping me home, so she didn't need to wait up. She sounded grateful. I'm sure she was. I'm sure the day had been very hard on her, physically. I'm sure she'd need her sleep to recover from the pounding she'd gotten that afternoon, poor baby.

Now that I had plans in place, I needed to start other balls rolling. I knew I had to get away from Deanna, and she had to feel some of my pain. And not the touchy-feely kind where we all sit in a circle and hold hands and cry. No, she needed some humiliation and understanding that I would not put up with this.

It was going to be hard to do some of this. Part of me couldn't wait to get it all in place and enjoy the fall out, and part of me was both sad and ashamed that I could feel that way. I wanted to shield the kids as much as I could, but I also recognize that this is the real world. Whether I did what I did the way I wanted to or just folded my tent and stole off in the night, they were going to have to deal with a house divided. Given that, I might as well do it my way and get some satisfaction out of it.

So the next day, bright and early, I was out before the kids even woke up. I'm sure Deanna wondered at that, but it wouldn't be long and I'd not have to answer to her questions any more.

I went to breakfast at IHOP and made a call to my company's lawyer, Jonathan Bruty. He and I went way back, and he was also a friend, of sorts. I'd dated his wife before he'd arrived on the scene and I definitely got the impression he was not wildly thrilled about that. His wife, Angie, and Deanna were friendlier, doing shopping trips and so on. But we had a relationship and it was ok. Either way, I needed to do this.

So the appointment was at ten am, and when I was shown into his office, he was all smiles and hand clasping, as well he might be, given how much business I'd pushed his way with Dresdin and other companies looking for legal assistance.

I went into why I was there and his face clouded. I don't know if it was because it meant I'd be back on the market and therefore competition for his wife in his mind, or because he didn't want to see a couple he knew break up. Honestly, I didn't care. He wasn't going to have anything to do with it anyway.

"Ryan, I feel for you buddy, I really do. But I don't quite know how I can help? I do business law, not family or divorce law."

"Oh I know. I'm here more for advice on who I should see about this. Who are the best divorce lawyers? Can you give me a list of the best within, oh, ten miles, and then the ten best in Chicago? So I have some choice?"

The entire point here is that once I've had the one hour free initial consultation with each, it means I have a prior relationship with that law firm, and therefore it would be a conflict of interest for them to take her case. I was basically stripping Deanna of legal resources before she could get to them. If she approached any of the people I approached, they would have to refuse her service. Plus I was going to need a lawyer anyway, so I might as well do the research.

Petty, yes, I know. But she had it coming. I was on a mission now, and I was going to see it through.

"Sure, I can do that. I'll get my admin on it. Would you like some coffee while we wait?"

So we had coffee and it was all very civilized and I could see how he was restraining himself from asking more details that he desperately wanted to know. Before I left, I felt it necessary to say, "This is covered by confidentiality, right? No chatting with Angie? I don't want this to get back to Deanna just yet."

Jonathan actually looked hurt at that. "I thought you knew me better than that Ryan. I would never do that."

"I'm glad John. This is just personal and very close to home and I need to tread carefully here. I'm sorry I impugned on your professionalism."

He hesitated and then said, "It's ok, I understand. When this is all over, we need a beer sometime. You need to talk, I'm here. I'm sure Angie would want to offer you her support, too."

That was unexpected. I felt like perhaps I had misjudged Jonathan Bruty. And then the nasty little voice in my head who had been making it's presence felt since I'd discovered what I had said, 'Sure, and then Angie can report back to Deanna!' and I left the office wondering who I was becoming.
I spent the rest of the day making appointments with every lawyer on the list I could get one with, and I spent the next two days doing the same. I managed 14 in three days, which at the end of it, I considered enough. My evenings were spent taking the kids to their evening events, something that Deanna normally did, but I insisted I needed to do, as part of me being 'more in touch with my own life' or some such rubbish I spouted. I was getting good at it, in fact. Either way, it meant I was not hanging out with her.

I had also selected my lawyer, a barracuda named Sarah Gold. She was divorced, bitter, jaded, smoked nonstop and was reputed to be one of the nastiest divorce lawyers god had ever made. I explained my circumstances and she sat there, astonished, saying only, "The big screen? Seriously?" and then took my case instantly. I left her starting to prepare divorce papers to be served.

Part one of the plan was complete.

Something had been nagging me about the whole thing with Deanna and this Jordan Lawler character. Who was he? How did he fit in? What did he have that she just decided to abandon her vows for him? I wanted to know. The profile we had didn't have the kind of details I wanted to know, so in the end, I made up my mind I wanted to meet him. We also faced the issue that if what I wanted to do came off, we'd possibly face civil suits. Well, I would. We'd be careful not to leave any direct traces back to me, but honestly, if you looked at it, the only person who would do what I envisioned was me. All paths led to my door, even if there was no proof.

If that happened, we'd need some proof that what I said was happening was, in fact, happening. We needed video of them together. This is the part of the plan that I was least happy about. If and when we got this footage, someone would have to watch it, to be sure of what we've got. There was no way I was going to let Solomon or Simon watch it, so that left...me. I wasn't sure I would be prepared for it, but we had to have it, just to cover our own asses.

And that meant we'd need to plant a camera at the scene of the crime. And that meant going into this guys apartment. Someone had to do it. And I wanted that person to be me.

I highly doubted he'd know me. Not unless pillow talk was of Deanna showing him pictures of our family. I doubted that very much. If she was compartmentalizing as much as Crystal said, then I should imagine she was doing the same at the other end. I at least hoped so, or this would be an embarrassing encounter. I just needed to meet the guy, see what the fuss was about.

So I talked to Solomon, and he set me up with a Wifi camera and damn if this thing wasn't tiny. Ninety five percent of it seemed to be battery. The only problem was that its broadcast range wasn't huge. We'd need a PC recorder nearby, some laptop. Again, Solomon came the rescue. He had an old Macbook that he said would work. We just needed to stash it in the building somewhere so it could pick up the camera broadcast and record it. And the laptop would need an external drive, because the one it had wasn't big enough.

To be honest, I started to glaze over after a bit. Again, the stories I'd read weren't really up on this kind of thing. They just had people wiring their houses up with cameras and that was it. It's way more involved and complicated than that; funny how those stories gloss over that.

I'd gotten the recorder in Deanna's car and pulled the conversations off it and listened to some of them. Mostly it was just work stuff, or her gossiping with her girlfriends. Apparently one of the girls in the book group was having an affair! Fancy that! Hearing Deanna's righteous indignation almost made me throw up. I mean, couldn't she have at least thrown out some pointers in keeping the poor schmuck this girl was married to in the dark? She was, after all, so good at it herself.

I listened to a lot of crap music on the radio and small interactions with people on the phone or when she ordered fast food at some chain -- again, the Lit Erotica stories don't deal with this, do they? They say things like "I listened to that night's calls" without going into how fucking tedious that task really was. It's not one that takes ten minutes. It takes hours. I got forty minutes in, then I texted Solomon to ask if he had any ways to make it go faster.

Within seconds, he'd recommended that I download a program called Audacity, which would enable me to load the recorded sound and view it as a waveform. Within minutes I was able to recognize what was speech and wasn't just from looking at the shapes the waveform made. Apparently there was another program, Sound Forge, which was even better at this, and had plugins to do exactly what I was doing by hand, but Audacity was free and Sound Forge cost a lot, so yeah, cheapskate that I am, it was Audacity all the way.

With this new approach, listening went a lot faster and I soon heard the one conversation that broke my heart again.

"Hey."

I noted it wasn't even "Hey, its me." Just "Hey".

That implied a familiarity that was way beyond the initial flushes of infatuation. But then, if Crystal was to be believed, this had been going on for over six weeks now, so I shouldn't be surprised, even if it did make me want to rip someone's heart out with a rusty knife. Even if it was my own.

"You are bad!" She said this while laughing. "You can't answer the phone like that! What if it was your mother calling?"

Oh vomit.

"I know. I needed to check in. Sorry I haven't called. Things at home are not quite right and I need some time here. He's going through something and I need to be around for him. Yeah, he came home from Madison, but he was sick, then he got some bad news about a friend, then he's been spending time with the kids.... No, I know that's great for you, but it sucks for me.... You know why. I'm not going into this again. My home life is my home life and you don't get involved in that, just like they don't get involved in this. If you keep asking, I'm going to end it...Yes of course I can. Just like that, if I wanted to. Yes, of course I can. No, I'm not 'addicted'. You might be, I'm not."

She laughed here, to indicate that yes, of course she was addicted, but she wasn't going to say that. That would just be too obvious. How charming.

"Look, I need some time to reconnect, ok? Maybe I could stop by in a couple of days?...Yes, I know about our thing. Not this week. We can do it next week...OK. Which day? I don't know. Ok ok. Thursday, ok? Happy now? Thursday evening. I can get Crystal to cover. I'll say we have to get a house staged that evening."

Well that wouldn't be happening. I wonder what excuse she'd be using instead?

"We won't have too long, but enough...No, I can't stay. You know why...Yes, you do. No. Maybe we can make a weekend of it sometime, but not now....Yes. You know it. No, I won't say it. I don't. No. I don't. I love what you do, but no, I'm not going to say that. That's for my husband. Yeah, right, you can try. I still have some qualms, you know. No, I'm not going to say anything now that I have to deal with later. No. NO!"

She was still laughing at the end of this, so all the denials in the world weren't really mattering. I knew what he wanted her to say. And she was very close to saying it. My marriage was deader than I had feared it was.

"OK. I'll see you on Thursday evening. Be home. And be showered."

And that was the end of that. I sat there, shaking -- alternating between extreme rage and deep sadness at something ending, in a way I had absolutely no control over, and wondering if it was possible for me to go up stairs and climb into bed next to the unfaithful bitch and not kill her in her sleep. I decided I wasn't going to, and instead I had two shots of Jameson and made myself comfortable on the couch. As I drifted off, I was mentally making up a story about my buddy being in hospital -- how the end was coming faster than predicted. That should get me out of any discussions about not coming to bed.

So the next day I picked up the phone, made a call to Crystal and set up me stopping by the dick heads apartment. I just needed to do it before Thursday, and since that was two days away, I should be solid. The premise was that I was a guy from out west looking for a Chicago base, and being sent on by Crystal. The only stipulation was that I wanted to meet the owner, since I was in the same boat as him and wanted to hear about the amenities and stuff before I bought in.

Crystal said that was unusual; most of the time people did not want to meet the people doing the selling, but in this case, with the way I'd proposed it, it made sense. She'd set it up.

I specifically did not ask about her situation or Deanna. Just easier not to. I already had enough on my plate.

The appointment was for the next day, and once again, that evening, I worked out a way to get out. I took the kids to see the latest Pixar movie, followed by dinner at Red Robin.

Deanna was ok with it since she was going to be out the next evening anyway -- this gave her time at home on her own, something she didn't often get. She gave me some cock and bull story about one of her friends in her book group was getting a promotion and she wanted to celebrate, and could I look after the kids while she 'let her hair down'. Of course I said yes, even though my heart was breaking yet again knowing what she really intended. I was quite surprised I still had any parts of my heart left big enough to break again.

The next day, Wednesday, at 3pm, I knocked on the door of the apartment, having already stashed the laptop in nearby supply closet. Each floor had it's own laundry room, and there was a small room past that with cleaning products in it. It wasn't supposed to be open, but thirty seconds with a credit card got that lock unlocked. I had stashed the laptop on the floor, with some washing paper on top. I'd even found a plug to power it. I just hoped it was still there a couple of days later, when I came back for it.

Then it was time. I knocked on the door and it opened and there he was. I just looked at him as he smiled at me and said, "Jordan Lawler. You must be James Goddard? Come on it."

I looked at his hand, then took it. I didn't want to. I wanted to grab it and deck the bastard, but I had a part to play here. I went in.

The apartment was relatively nice. But what killed me was seeing pictures on the wall that came from my house. There, in the corner, was an ottoman that came from my den. It was just loaded with small touches that were obviously Deanna's. And it made me sick.

So Jordan Lawler -- same basic build as me. Younger, by about five to ten years I think. Very open face, guileless I think the word is. Sandy blond hair. Tan. Easy way about him. Lots of insincere (to me) smiling. I hated him, but then I didn't expect to like him.

He showed me around, and I pulled out my phone and asked him, "Do you mind if get some pictures? Some footage later would really help me make up my mind."

Now this was very carefully phrased. Permission to record in his apartment was important, since my phone was recording everything I said. Ok, it was a stretch and probably would not hold up in court, but what the hell, right? Might as well try.

We wandered the apartment, I took in the view, the bedroom. The apartment was a two-bath place -- one in the corridor to the bedroom and one in the bedroom itself. While I was in the bedroom I couldn't help but stare at the four-poster bed and have my mind run riot with images of Deanna being screwed on it. Jordan saw me looking at the bed and said, "It's pretty cool, isn't it? I can throw it into the price. The four posters are great for tying ladies up, you know."

My stomach turned, and then knotted up and I had to force down the desire to step over to him and break his neck. I settled for just imagining it instead.

I managed to force a grin and said, "Oh, I'm sure. Hey, do you have a beer? I'm parched. It would be great to just sit in here, have a beer and just imagine living here."

"Oh, sure, man. Where are my manners?"

He bustled off to get one. Where indeed were his manners? Taking someone else's wife? I was left in the bedroom and I took full advantage, pulling the tiny camera bug out of my pocket and installing it on the bookshelf in front of the bed. What's more, the camera itself was hidden behind a small knickknack thing that was all black wires and glass bead gems sitting on one of the shelves, that I'd bought Deanna while we were on a trip to Vermont for our fourth wedding anniversary. Yet another reminder of what was being lost.

I was on my way out to the living room when he arrived with the beer. I looked at it and debated just leaving, but honestly, I would have liked to know a bit more about this guy. I was sure he was a schumck -- he had a family back in Philadelphia, and he was messing around with mine. By that definition, he was a douche bag.

I mean, I guess it's possible that they just 'fell in love', but I didn't buy that. I couldn't just buy that. If that was true, I'd been even more remiss than I could have imagined, that my wife could just fall out of love with me and in love with someone else. Our marriage wasn't rip roaring drunken monkey sex all the time, but it just wasn't that bad. Not unless she was hiding her true feelings from me all the freakin' time.

But then I thought, she is now, and she's having an affair and she's hiding it well, and I had no idea, so perhaps it was true. Perhaps she was hugely unhappy and just hiding it well. At this point, I still didn't really know what to think.

But I was pretty sure this Jordan guy was a scum bag. I just needed to draw it out of him. So I accepted the beer and went and sat on his couch, and he sat opposite me, raising the beer in salute.

"So, Crystal tells me you are advanced guard for a group looking to build a factory here?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. They want to build in the burbs. They got a great tax deal." I shrugged, indicating that I didn't really want to talk about it.

"What about you? Why are you selling?"

"Time to go back East. I was out here negotiating a company purchase. We are pretty much done now, barring the signature and bringing in a new management team. I bought this place because it was cheaper than rent."

"So," I said, putting down the beer and leaning forward, "What's the best thing about living here? The view? Having your own place? No kids? Chicks? What?"

It was the only way I could think of getting onto the subject.

Jordan snorted and said, "Well, I would say the baseball, but since I'm a Phillies fan and all you've got here are the Cubs and the Sox, well, you do the math. I even bought season tickets for the Cubs this year, just to see what the fuss was about. It's a bit sad, isn't it? So, failing that, without doubt, it's the chicks."

"Oh really," I said, dryly, in that way that indicates that if he's willing to talk, I'm willing to listen.

"Oh yeah. Look, I don't know you, but that's a good thing. They say you can unburden yourself to those you don't know better than those you do. I have a family, but I was stuck here for a year. A Year! All in the name of progress at work. And I have needs. And they aren't being met. So I... got myself a little something to help out."

I just raised my eyebrows at him as I picked up the bottle again. I needed to do something with my hands or they'd make fists.

"Oh she's a little honey. Got some soccer mom life out in the burbs somewhere, with kids and a white picket fence. But when she's here, she's my slut. Big time. Screamer, wants to fuck constantly. It's awesome. She's got this dangerous sex thing going on. It's weird. When I met her, the attraction was instant, but it's like she gets something here she never got before. She wants to fuck in all sorts of weird places. We've done it in my car, down by the lake, in an elevator -- she even prepared for that one, not wearing panties and a skirt that came up instantly -- and even in the bathroom of the Signature room of the Hancock building. Apparently the women's bathroom there has the best view of the city from that high up, not that I saw much. I was too busy looking at another view."

I sat there, listening to this, and marveling at my own ability to remain seated. I was getting it all on my iPhone, but like a scab, I couldn't stop myself picking.

"Are there any...feelings? Or is this just a casual fuck?"

"Feelings...well, not hugely. I mean, I think we both know this wouldn't last forever. I mean, I'm heading back east as soon as I unload this place. And I'm not about to leave my wife and kids over her. But as a fuck toy? Sure, I wish I was sticking around. I've never been as drained as I am by this girl. As it is, I'll be back in town fairly frequently and you can bet she'll be my first call. But as for feelings... can I be honest?"

I gestured to him to continue.

"I don't know why, but I want to get her to tell me she loves me. I have no idea why I need that, but I do. I've tried everything, but not got it yet. But I think it's only a matter of time."

I had to agree. I needed to do something about this and end this, but I couldn't jump the gun. I just had to sit there and take it, for now.

"What about her home life? I mean... isn't this dangerous? For you, too?"

"I think that's part of what she gets off on. As for me, well, they are far away and I've given her no hint of who they are, my home address or anything. She bothers me with a text when I am home, I just dump the phone and get a new one. Problem solved. I mean, she doesn't even have my email address. Her home life? Well it can't be that great if she's doing this with me, can it? She didn't fucking hesitate when I offered her a romp in the sack. No 'Oh, I can't do that, I'm married' -- she was in there and on the bed in seconds, all spread, begging me to fill her. Obviously who she is married to is not fulfilling his side. That's not really my fault."

I couldn't take any more. I had to get out before I killed this guy. I put down the beer and said, "Well, I gotta run. Thanks for showing me your place and thanks for the chat. I'll definitely be thinking about this over the next few days. You'll hear from me pretty soon." I wasn't lying either.

I went to the door and he followed me, and then he said something that really got to me. "Hey, you know what, I'll bet I can pass her on to you. You take the apartment; I'll bet I can get her to service you, too. Same deal!"

I honestly just couldn't even look at it him. If I had, I'd have killed him. I knew I would have. And I didn't want to spend forever in jail for a cheating bitch.

I high tailed to the elevator, shaking the whole time. I needed a drink.

I went straight back to Crystal Lake, and met with Solomon in a bar just off Main Street. He'd been there a while and while he was still lucid, he was quite merry, too.

"So, I been looking into...you know."

"Have you now," I said, ordering a large beer from the waitress. For some reason, Solomon didn't want to use descriptive terms when we were out of what he called a 'secure room'. I thought it was all too tin foil hat for words, but I needed him, and I needed to keep him happy, so I just went along with it.

"And what conclusions have you come to?" I asked.

He grinned at me. There were four empty beer bottles on the table, so as well he should. He should be VERY happy by now.

"All sorted. Took a bit. Had to talk to a few guys in LA who had some experience with this. I even did a practice run at a place in San Diego, just to see if I could get in and do what was necessary. With the docs I have, it works like a charm. The software is actually pretty cool. Makes it very easy, which is what it's designed for."
"Good."

Solomon just couldn't see that all I really wanted to do was drink, because then he asked, "Planted ok?"

My drink arrived and I just nodded and pulled it down in one go. As I did so, Simon plonked himself down in the other chair at our table with a deep sigh of accomplishment.

"Mission achieved!" he exulted, waving at the waitress.

I just raised an eyebrow at him, as I finished the last dregs of my drink.

"I found three of them in a bar downtown."

"A bar? At lunch time?"

"They are that kind of people. I just asked one of the people in the vans and they told me that's where they hang out."

"Did you find our boy?"

"Oh yes. Like I said, found three of them. One of them was the guy we were looking for."

"Well, that was lucky," I said. We knew the names of seven people but didn't know which specific guy we'd need. The waitress arrived and we ordered more drinks.

"More than you know. When I sat down and explained what we had in mind, they laughed for a full five minutes. They are in like Flynn. What's even better is that one of the other guys had a suggestion, and he's going to do it."

Simon explained with the other guy had in mind -- while he was doing so, our drinks arrived - and after he was done, we all clinked glasses.

"What's this going to cost me?" I asked, worrying about costs.

Simon smiled at me and said, "Three bottles of Jameson, Absolute and Courvoisier."

I raised my eyebrows and said, "That's all?"

"These guys were totally behind you, dude. One of them had a bad deal with an ex and they are all itching to even up the balance."

"You told them what to say if they are asked?"

"I certainly did. They were already there, though. It's the obvious thing."

"Yeah. Ok, so we need the footage and I'll go get that in a day or so, so we can defend ourselves if need be, and a couple of pictures. Now, the next question is, do we ask his wife about this? Do we give her a heads up? You know we are going to blow up her marriage too."

We'd already found Michelle Lawler on Facebook, connected to her husband's account. We'd found pictures of their family, their address, the whole deal. The question was, do we let her know what we had planned?

"Honestly?" said Simon, "No. No disrespect, Ryan, but you are too soft a touch. If she told you not to, that she would work it out with her husband, then what? You'd do it -- you'd walk away from this and you'd never have closure. The fact is, this guy is a douche bag and she needs to know it in such a way as to not be able to just accept it. She needs to know it in a way that makes her angry and upset and to divorce this fucktard in the most epic way possible."

I just looked steadily at Simon, debating internally what to say. He'd just said what I thought -- what I couldn't say because it was inherently selfish. I was reacting to being betrayed and I was destroying someone else's marriage in the process. Although, from another point of view, I wasn't. My wife and that asshole had already done that. The only issue was that his wife didn't know it yet. What I was doing was lifting that wool from her eyes. Sure, I was going to do it in a dramatic fashion, but at the end of the day, she would know, either way. This way, I got some satisfaction out it.

I ended up just nodding at Simon and saying, "Agreed."

Then I turned to Solomon and said, "You sure you are all set? Everything is ready? Tested?"

"It is indeed. We are all set to go."

"Tomorrow."

I needed the bathroom, so I quickly headed to the john, and when I returned, both Simon and Solomon were studies in casualness, both doing their best not to look at each other and both trying their damnedest not to laugh or giggle. Obviously something frightfully funny had happened while I was in the bathroom.

"What?"

Nothing. Simon looked wide-eyed and innocently at me, while Solomon buried himself in his beer. "What?"

"No 'what', - what have you idiots done now?" I demanded. Then I noticed I'd left my iPhone on the table when I'd gone to the bathroom. Unlocked. Stupid mistake number thirty-seven.

Giving them both the stink eye, I picked it up and looked at it, expecting to see a Facebook post -- since I was still logged in -- about how I was gagging for the cock or some such. Surprisingly there was nothing. I knew these two jokers had done something, but I didn't have the time to get into it right there and then.

So instead, I picked up my Jameson and threw it all down the front of my shirt. Simon got up, concerned and Solomon' beer bottle stopped on the way to his mouth.

"Don't worry. Just getting out of any activities tonight." I smiled at them. "Simon, can you drop me off?"

Simon was as good as his word, and driving home, I got a text from work. Something was afoot there, and I used Siri -- the iPhone voice command thing -- to respond, and it was then that I discovered what my two humorous friends had been up to while I was in the bathroom, when Siri said, "It is my pleasure to do that for you, Bitch." Those asswipes had reprogrammed the name Siri used for me from SuperStud, which is what it used to be, to the new one of 'Bitch'.

"Very fucking funny," I snarled at Simon, and he did his very best to not smile at all.

We arrived at my place and I then staggered into the matrimonial home, pretending to be drunk. I certainly smelled the part. Deanna came buzzing into the kitchen when she realized I was home. I was trying to make coffee, clumsily, and spilling everything everywhere.

She said, sniffing the air and full of disapproval, "Are you drunk Ryan?"

I just smiled stupidly at her. "Something like that. OOhhhh, what are you wearing.. oohh."

Deanna was wearing a diaphanous nightgown -- something very lacey and see through, with a small lace cardigan over the top. She pulled that tight over the top, and crossed her arms. She'd obviously been planning for my arrival -- a nice mercy fuck I'm sure -- and me showing up out of my mind had crimped that. No sex for me!

I blinked slowly and swayed a little as I stood, smiling stupidly. She just stared at me, then shook her head and hissed, "Sleep it off on the couch, you bozo."

And then she turned and stamped off up stairs. I let her get all the way up the stairs, then finished making the coffee and went to see what was on the DVR that I hadn't already seen.